


A Life Less Ordinary

by unilocular



Category: NCIS
Genre: AU, Gen, Tony gets a family, Tony is married!, with kids!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 121,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unilocular/pseuds/unilocular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident, the universe grants Tony a rare glimpse into a life he could've had. Life Before His Eyes (9x14) Tony-style. Not Tiva!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x24. Moderate violence in the first chapter. Adult language.
> 
> This story has been bothering me for a while now and I think it's time to start writing it. This is an AU based on Life Before His Eyes (NCIS 9x14), It's a Wonderful Life, and The Family Man (starring Nic Cage and Tea Leoni).
> 
> It will not be Tiva. I repeat, it will not be Tiva.
> 
> This is not a death-fic.
> 
> Everyone from the team should be, hopefully, be in the story somewhere. The main team focus, however, will be on Tim and Tony friendship as well as Tony's character growth.
> 
> I'm going to be writing this as a work in progress, so I'm not sure how long it will take. But it will be finished...eventually.
> 
> Please enjoy.

**Wednesday, August 5, 2015 - 3:33pm – 3467 Atherton St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

"If you Navy bastards don't get lost," the voice behind the door warns, "I'm going to let my dog out!"

Tony DiNozzo leans deeper against the small rancher's vinyl siding, readjusts the grip on his Sig. On the opposite side of the front door, Tim McGee, mimics the motion, but his heart isn't in it. His lips are pressed in a tight line, all of his muscles poised to bolt as soon as Petty Officer Jackson Mulroney releases the hellhound.

"Easy, McGee," Tony whispers, "he's lying."

Half-nodding, Tim settles in his stance as though he accepts Tony's word for it. But the look in his eyes says, _If there is a dog, I'm so out of here._

Making a face, Tony squints through the window, but the sun's molten rays reflect off the glass. He can't make out anything inside and almost gets blinded for the pleasure. For all he knows, Mulroney could have more dogs than the Queen of England. Or he could be bluffing.

Tony pounds on the door again. "Mulroney, come out with – "

"Yeah right, you Navy bastard!" Mulroney actually laughs. "Get the hell off my porch or I'll let Goliath loose."

Tim swallows audibly.

 _Goliath,_ he mouths, _did you hear that?_

Of course Tony heard that. The neighbors on the other side of the cul-de-sac, down the block, and the whole damned neighborhood heard it too. Everyone in DC is probably listening to Mulroney's verbal abuse and their attempts to coax him out of his freaking house.

Shaking his head, Tony flattens himself against the house again. He tries for another view of the interior, but he can only make out his own reflection staring back. Sallow-cheeked and tired eyes hiding behind his Aviator sunglasses. World weary on a good day, ready to jump ship on a bad one.

He just needs an easy case to finish the day out. And up until right now, right until this moment, their current case had been incredibly easy. Numerous provisions ordered for a naval destroyer didn't show up on time, Mulroney's signatures were on the orders, and a suspiciously empty storeroom was on base. Throw in a few thousand dollars that magically appeared in Mulroney's bank account after the order disappeared. Slam dunk, just the way he liked them.

But who the hell was he kidding?

Nothing had been easy since Gibbs caught that bullet in Iraq. Sometimes Tony wonders whether he might be to blame, whether he set himself up for failure, accidentally made thing difficult. But Tony did what he was supposed to do: accept the role of team leader as though it would be nothing more than temporary. Despite Gibbs' assertions that the change was permanent, a part of Tony still believes he holds the space until his boss come back from his retirement or trial retirement or bourbon and boat bonanza…or whatever the hell the brass calls the siesta this week.

The ease with which Tim and Ellie fell into their relative promotions still surprises Tony. They arrive early and stay late without so much as a sarcastic quip. With tight and pained smiles, they follow his lead like good little soldiers. Like he might've earned his new position on merit, not mistakes.

But the constant fear of screwing up again gnaws at him, keeps him up most nights, sends him back to the bottle. It hollowed him out like Swiss cheese until even a damned, routine arrest can't be easy. What he wouldn't give to change that.

He stares back at his reflection. Christ, he looks old.

Tim clears his throat.

Tony springs back to life. "Mulroney, open the door! We've got a warrant."

"Suck it, cop!"

He tries the door handle. Locked, of course, because that would be too easy.

At that moment, a dog barks like it wants to rip Tim and Tony apart and spit out their bones. Tony's blood runs cold, gooseflesh pricks to his arm despite the blistering heat.

Tim's face pales, his body rigid. "Tony, that's a Bull Mastiff."

Tony blinks. "How the hell do you know that?"

"I dated a girl from Jethro's obedience class who had one." His upper lip curls at the bad memories. "The dog used to bark like that at Jethro all the time."

"Is that why you broke up, McDogWhisperer?" Tony asks, not really interested.

Tim looks away. "The crazy dog was saner than she was."

As if on cue, the dog inside barks again, louder and more aggressive this time. For a second, Tony imagines the animal sucking him up like spaghetti. He follows his Tim's lead and takes a full step back.

"Tony, we – "

"I'm already calling for back-up, McGee," Tony says, pulling out his cell phone.

Nodding, Tim turns his attention to the door. "Petty Officer Mulroney, come out of the house! Now!"

"Fat chance, douch – "

"Hey! That's uncalled for!" Indignation runs rampant on Tim's face.

Tony chuckles at how shocked his partner is that their suspect would use an expletive. Maybe it is time for the dirtbags to take social etiquette classes. So they could say please and thank you, you know, right before they blow your brains out. Maybe if Mulroney had just asked nicely, Tony and Tim would already be on their way back to the Yard while he hightailed it to Florida.

"Takes one to know one," Tony calls back.

Tim shoots him an appreciative smile until Mulroney hurls a particularly colorful string of expletives about where they can stuff their warrant.

Rolling his eyes, Tony dials the main number for the NCIS dispatch. While the phone rings, he keeps his eyes on the door to make sure Mulroney doesn't release the Hound of Baskerville.

Another bark, another step towards the car. Somehow, Tim is already off the porch.

 _"NCIS dispatch,"_ a pleasant, distantly familiar voice chirps.

Cringing inwardly, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.

_Oh shit, I should probably remember her._

Was her name Carrie? Or Kara? Or Mariah? Or Jane?

Okay, so maybe he can't recall a tiny, unimportant detail like her name, but he does remember how she was his first conquest when he started at NCIS. The relationship went along happily for months until they hit a point break when she tried to make them exclusive…like he actually knew the definition of the word back then. Of course, she went completely crazy when he told her that it wasn't her, it was him – because what rejected woman doesn't? – and ended up leaving NCIS to float around the primordial alphabet soup before, obviously, returning at the opportune moment to make his life miserable again.

"Hey there, - " he licks his lips, takes a shot in the dark " – Tara. Agent McGee and I are trying to serve a warrant, but we've got a situation. The suspect is currently threatening us with a dog and – "

"A Bull Mastiff," Tim interjects.

Tony shoots him a look. "A dog and we need back-up."

 _"Ah, Agent DiNozzo."_ The ice in her voice should be refreshing in the oppressive heat. _"I'll put Agent Barrows and his team on stand-by. You and Agent McGee should maintain a safe distance while I connect you to Animal Control. And by the way, Tony, my name is Alicia."_

"Shit," he murmurs.

But she's already gone, leaving cheery hold music in her wake. He grinds his teeth when a tinny, soft-jazz version of The BeeGee's "Stayin' Alive" starts up in his ear.

"You've got to be kidding," Tony grouses.

"What?" But Tim sounds like he's a block away.

Tony squints against the sun to find his partner in the middle of the flagstone walkway, already on his way to the car. Rolling his eyes, Tony moves to the very edge of the porch. For every mistake he has made since Gibbs got hurt, he isn't about to bungle this arrest.

_One more try, and then I'll wait in the car with McGee._

"Mulroney, come out! Now!" he bellows.

"Or what?" Mulroney calls, taunting, laughing.

Tony's hand tightens around his holstered Sig. "Just open the damn door."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

He rolls his eyes. "For the love of G-d, yes!"

And in that moment, he realizes he forgot about that damned dog. The bark is more like a sonic boom that rattles the windows. Tony takes a step off the porch, just as the door flings open.

"Sic 'em Goliath!" Mulroney yells.

Barking and howling reverberates through the porch, attacks Tony's ears, sends the blood pounding through his veins. Motion blurs towards him and he bolts, phone forgotten. It hits the ground and explodes into a million pieces. He trips down the porch steps, shoes smacking against the flagstone.

"Run, McGee! Run!" Tony yelps, bolting for the car.

Tim doesn't need to be told twice. Without waiting for Tony, the younger man sprints for cover with the speed of a gazelle. For the life of him, Tony had no idea Tim could move that fast.

Huffing and puffing, Tony desperately hopes he reaches the vehicle before he ends up as the behemoth's lunch. Something snaps at his ankle, jerking on his pant leg, but he yanks himself free. He digs deeper, tries to ignore the pound in his left knee that kicks up.

He can't bear to look back.

Tim reaches the car first, dives into the driver's seat and scrambles onto the passenger's side. He leaves the door open for Tony. He swivels back with his Sig raised and ready. Surprise flashes across his face.

_Oh shit, the monster's right behind me._

Another growl, farther away this time, sends white-hot terror burning through him. Tony throws himself into the driver's seat and slams the door. As he collapses back in the seat, his breaths come in ragged, gasping pants. He revels in the fact that he is still alive, still has all his limbs, that nothing took a chunk out of his ass.

"Are you okay, McGee?" he wheezes.

Tim nods tightly. "Yeah, fine. How about you, Tony?"

He gives a flagging thumbs up. With a grim nod, Tim glances back at Mulroney's house. Instantly, his face twists with disgust, his cheeks blazing red. His shaking hands fumble for the door handle before he sucks in what's supposed to be a calming breath. Too bad it doesn't work. Tony follows his partner's gaze, fully expecting a giant dog to be strutting around, protecting its turf.

But his mouth gapes at the sight.

In the front yard, a dark brown dachshund prowls through the yard, its hard barely visible above the overgrown grass. Doubled over with laughter, Mulroney stands on his porch clutching a cell phone. The sound of the barking dog still booms from the device.

Tony grinds his teeth.

_That bastard._

"Did we just get chased by that dog?" Tim asks.

"It sounded bigger," Tony offers sheepishly.

"I could've sworn that dog was huge." Tim rubs the back of his neck, the anger deepening on his face. "Bishop doesn't need to find out about this, right?"

"I won't tell, if you won't."

Tim laughs humorlessly. "My lips are sealed."

The dachshund chooses that moment to saunter over to the Charger and show the agents what it thinks about NCIS. Scowling, Tony reaches for his Sig and wonders whether he can throw that mutt in the pound for destruction of Navy property. He shakes his head, decides to save the punishment for Mulroney.

"Good," Tony says. "Now, let's go arrest that idiot. You go through the front and I'll head him off in case he makes a run for it."

"On it, boss."

The ease with which Tim says the works makes Tony flinch. No matter how many times Tim or Ellie call him that, he doubts he'll ever get used to it. Not that he wants to.

Tim tilts his head. "You still don't like that, do you?"

"Save it for Gibbs, McGee."

"Sure." He shoots Tony a grin. "Let's go make an arrest, El Jefe."

Before Tony has a chance to tell him that he hates that nickname even more, Tim climbs out. Tony follows and instantly, the sweat starts down his face. As soon as their feet hit the asphalt, Mulroney freezes, his eyes going wide and his face paling. He back back into the house.

Tim darts across the yard with the dachshund, yipping and snarling, on his heels.

Clutching his Sig tightly to his chest, Tony rounds to the back.

He isn't even halfway there when he hears a car engine rev. Tires squeal and Tim yells something inaudible. Panic bubbles in Tony's throat, sending shockwaves through his body.

"Tim!" Tony yells.

He sprints back to the front yard, the high grass whipping at his ankles. When the Honda Civic at the edge of the cul-de-sac comes into view, Tony holds his breath. Mulroney inches the car closer to freedom while Tim stands in its path with his gun raised and that dachshund pulling on his pant leg.

Tim's expression is murderous. "Turn off the vehicle and put your hands on the wheel!"

The engine revs again.

"Do it!" Tim yells.

"Agent McGee, you stand down!" Tony shouts.

But Mulroney revving his car drowns Tony out. Mulroney is about to make his getaway, regardless of who – or what – is in the way. Tony just reacts, darting towards them. Just as Tony reaches his partner, Mulroney guns the engine. Tires squeal.

"Tim! Move!"

At that moment, the world slows to a crawl.

Forward momentum sends Tony careening full-force into Tim. He pushes Tim out of the way with everything he left and Tony catches his friend's wide eyes, his pinwheeling arms, the sick slap of flesh meeting pavement.

Tony turns back to the car just time for the world to catch up.

He doesn't even get a chance to close his eyes.

His body slams against the car hood, flipping him ass over head as though he weighs nothing all. Something deep inside his leg snaps. The world around him blends into a disgusting Tilt-a-Whirl of sky, asphalt, and car until he lands on the sun-baked asphalt. The sound of fleshing smashing against pavement floods his ears, brings bile to his tongue. For a split second, he feels like he's floating over his body, watching this all happen to someone else.

Then the pain crashes over him like a tidal wave. Every neuron screams in agony, every inch of his body pounds with its own heartbeat. He presses his hand against his chest, tries to make sure nothing's broken. But it's too much of a mess, slick with blood and sweat and tiny rocks.

Now, he knows what it means to be roadkill.

_I'll never run over a squirrel again._

Darkness reaches after him, but he doesn't have the energy to fight it. He watches the clouds swirl together overhead as it tries to whisk him away.

Somewhere far off, the crack of a gunshot resounds. Tony perks up.

It sounds almost…beautiful. Like the music he used to compose at the gun range after Gibbs took that bullet. Maybe getting run over by a car is karmic payback for imaging that kid's head exploding every time he pulled the trigger. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

Slowly, the pain ebbs away and Tony feels himself slipping away. The world greys around the edges like a particularly vivid dream. Overhead, the clouds swirl and dance into a divine carousel. He feels, oddly, peaceful despite the yelling and squealing tires around him. None of this matters now.

_This must be what dying feels like._

Out of nowhere, Tim's head interrupts Tony's pristine view of the sky. The right side of his face is covered in scratches, the beginning stages of bruises pop up on his ruddy cheeks. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

Tony's eyes close.

Something taps on his cheeks, shakes him awake. Tony lets his eyes flutter open, stares up at his friend.

"Wha-what?" he moans.

"Don't pass out on me again, Tony." He sounds like he carries the weight of the world. "Just stay with me." More shaking. "Stay here. Please…"

Tony struggles to smile at his friend. "The dream's over, Probie."

Tim's eyes go wide. "Tony? What do you mean?"

"Time for me to wake up."

"I don't…" Tim blinks the tears away "…understand."

Tony wants to tell him that he doesn't either.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Unknown time, Unknown Place –**

Tony always pictured dying to be spectacular. Something where the heaven opened up and angels descended with their giant wings and trumpets. Kind of like those Renaissance paintings he used to spend hours studying at the Philly Museum of Art that he visited on his days off.

But there isn't anything like that here, just darkness and a soft comfortable place to lie on. He's a tad forsaken that someone forgot to hand out wings and a harp when he arrived. At least, nothing hurts and that's probably a good thing after the accident. He wonders how Tim is making out.

_Poor McGee, all of that paperwork will be a bitch…_

Somewhere far away, spastic, mechanical music that sounds like something out of a circus kicks up. When the accompanying vocals join in, they're like the Chipmunks on a steady diet of speed and helium. Seconds later, a tiny voice - a cross between an off-key Munchkin and a squeaky mouse - jumps in, but it gets the lyrics completely wrong.

Tony rubs his hand over his face.

_Oh G-d, did I end up in hell?_

He hazards a slit-eyed view, fully expecting demons and dancing devils and some guy with a pitchfork and a hipster beard. But instead of brimstone and fire, he finds what appears to be a modest living room. There are crisp white walls, a black leather sectional, a dark wood coffee table, and a huge flat-screen TV with a caped, cartooned mouse flying across an animated sky.

He scrubs his hands over his face again.

_Where am I?_

It takes a few beats for the piles and piles of toys to blur into focus. Baby dolls with blonde curls, Barbie dolls, baby dolls in diapers and clothes and in strollers – how could anyone ever need so many dolls? - cover every inch of the floor. A hideous pink, play kitchen peeks out of the corner, its cupboard doors are open to spill plastic food and utensils all over the place.

Tony bolts upright.

At that moment, a little girl seemingly appears out of thin air. All dark-brown braided pigtails and broad smiles with fruit-juice stained teeth, she reeks of Elmer's glue. The little girl stops inches from his nose, grinning. He reels backwards, head bouncing off the sofa cushion.

"Daddy," she cheers, "you're finally awake!"

_What the fuck?_

His eyes widen. When they lock gazes, her tiny brow knits in thought as she studies him. The expression sucks his breath away, sends his heart leaping into his throat. He twists the sofa cushions around his fingers, unable to look away from the little girl.

_Oh my G-d, she looks just like me…_


	2. Chapter 2

**4:41pm – Still Unknown Place –**

Holding his gaze with a surprising intensity, the little girl sneaks closer. Her tiny brow is scrunched in thought like a pint-sized Nancy Drew ready to spew her big reveal. Tony shrinks back against the couch, swings his feet to the ground, as she claims the spot next to him.

She gives him one long, inquisitive stare.

His heart kicks up into his throat, twisting and trembling. She knows that he isn't meant to be here. Somehow, she just knows. Maybe she really can stare into his soul with those teeny, tiny eyes. That little twist to the corner of her mouth, her itty-bitty crossed hands speaks volumes.

Then she flumps back against the couch to zone out at the television. He almost has the chance to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Mommy! Daddy's being weird!" the little girl yells.

_Daddy._

The word pinballs around his brain, crushing the every last bit of sanity and common sense in its path. His heart pounds harder than it ever has before, faster than that moment Gibbs got shot, more intensely than the split-second where he didn't know whether his boss lived or died.

He jumps to his feet, ready to bolt, get the hell out of the Twilight Zone. But movement on the opposite side of the room stops him. Just at the entrance to the kitchen stands a familiar figure. His breath vanishes, but he can't catch it again. His lungs don't work anymore.

Zoe.

She's heavier now, but in all the right places. Her more generous breasts and ass only intensify that zaftig figure he constantly craves. Now, that's a place he'd like to conquer.

Instantly feeling guilty, he drops his gaze to the little girl on the couch.

If she already read his soul, she could very well be a mind-reader too. He'll definitely end up in hell for what's racing through his head. He takes a step away, considers whether he'll have a chance to get with Zoe later. You know, after he figures out what the fuck is going on.

"Oh, Tony, not this again," Zoe says, sounding like she's tired of it all.

Pressing his lips together, he glances to her face. She would be insanely attractive right now if it weren't for the anger twisting her features, the annoyance blazing in her eyes, that scowl on her lips.

That's the moment he notices the baby clutched to Zoe's side. Wearing a pink onesie and a bonnet, she looks identical to Zoe and equally miserable. Who knew those scowls could be genetic?

His breath hitches, his pulse kicks up. He has two little girls, and one very, very pissed woman on his hands. His eyes dart to a wedding picture on the wall and from here, it looks like the subjects might be better versions of him and Zoe. He even looks a bit like James Bond in his tux and she, a perfect replica of a Bond girl in a wedding dress. His right hand finds his left ring finger, searching for – and finding – a plain gold band.

_I have a wife._

The realization feels like getting hit with a fucking car all over again.

Adrenaline courses through his veins. Every single muscle in his body clenches in preparation of fight or flight. His unsteady eyes rake across the room at the girls and Zoe.

_I have two kids._

Nausea graces the back of his throat.

_I have a wife and two kids…_

Flight wins.

He bolts through the room, past the toys and the television with that damned cartooned flying mouse. Something tries to imbed itself into his foot, tries to become a part of him.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters.

"Tony," Zoe snaps, "not in front of the girls."

The thought only makes him sicker as he yanks the object out of his foot. He impaled himself on a hot-pink, Barbie stiletto. But removing it only makes the sole of his foot throb with its own heartbeat. It's a lot like getting stabbed except the freaking thing doesn't hurt until you pull out the knife.

"Son of a…" he consider his audience "…pushpin. Mother fudgescile."

Cursing with real words under his breath, he limps his way through the girl-child minefield for the front door. He grabs a pair of sneakers off the floor and yanks them on. Then, he snatches a set of keys and wallet from the bowl on the credenza by the door. Without looking back, he sprints onto the porch.

It's hotter than hell outside. The sun gleams off the pavement with those hazy wave lines that make everything look like a mirage. And the sight in the driveway just has to be one. A behemoth, black mini-van tries its best to hide behind a little, red sports car.

He presses the button on the car remote and of course, the van beeps.

Panic and confusion washes over him anew as he glances over his shoulder. Zoe haunts the window by the front door, her face still wrinkled with anger. When the baby comes into view with an identical expression, it sends a shiver down his spine. Zoe and mini-Zoe are just waiting for the chance to kick his ass.

_I'll take my chances with the van._

After leaping inside, he fires up the car and guns the engine. When he throws the car in reverse, he slams down on the gas. Tires squeal out of the driveway. Then he puts the car in gear and peals down the block. The mid-century ranchers and older Craftsman homes blend together outside the car in an infinite loop.

Tony blows through a stop sign and almost takes out a dark-haired woman in a wheelchair in the crosswalk. She tries to wave him down, but he doesn't stop.

"Sorry," he murmurs to her bewildered reflection in the rear view. "I'm sorry."

Several blocks later, he slams on the brakes and throws his car in park. It's the first time he notices the Frank Sinatra wafting from the stereo. He shuts it off, takes a moment take in his surroundings. Two car seats in the back, more dolls – and freaking Barbie shoes and plastic dinosaurs and stuffed animals – everywhere, DVDs piled up on the floor of the passenger side, grey suit jacket on the seat….Aviator sunglasses in the cup holder. Hell, he didn't even have to adjust the seat.

_I think this might be my car._

Who the hell drives a mini-van anyway? Oh yeah, people with kids.

"What the hell is going on?" he yells. "Where the fuck am I? Why the hell are there kids?"

He rests his head against the steering wheel, struggles to imagine a scenario that involves a world where a single man wakes up with an instant family. He hasn't even seen a film like this before. And without an ending, he has no clue how to escape this crazy place.

Suddenly, a car horn blasts.

Lifting his head, Tony glances at the huge truck in the rearview. He waves sheepishly as he puts the car in drive. At that moment, he recognizes the neighborhood.

Kingman Park.

He hangs a left, takes a few turns on auto-pilot. Seconds later, he berths the van – which is like parking a freaking boat – at the curb and climbs out. At least, the mid-century Craftsman with the canary yellow muscle car out front is a familiar place.

_Gibbs will know what the hell is going on._

He approaches the house through the overgrown yard. The wet grass laps at his ankles, leaves water stains on his jeans and his sneakers.

He frowns.

If he learned one thing from his father, it was that DiNozzos don't wear jeans or sneakers. They prefer Armani, Zegna, and Ferregamo. Expensive taste makes him look important, like he knows what the hell is going on, like he is in control. None of which he feels now.

He climbs up the steps, listening to each one protest his weight. He slides around the rusted out porch furniture, careful to avoid the edge of the chair where he ripped his new suit last weekend. If Tony is correct, Wednesday afternoon means Gibbs should be half-way through a fifth of bourbon, two Vicodin down, and sanding away on his boat. Just like any other day of the week.

When he tries the front door, he's surprised to find it locked. Sure, Gibbs got strange after he took that bullet, looked into ADT and new locks, but Tony thought his boss had gotten over the sudden paranoia.

Sighing, Tony heads back down the steps to the overgrown garden. Buried in the carcasses of plants baked to death by the summer sun, he picks up a fist-sized rock. It's lighter than he expected with a fake panel in the bottom. When he finds a house key inside, he decides unlocking the door is probably better than smashing a window. It might even save him a head slap, but what he wouldn't give for one of those again. Anything for a sliver of normalcy.

He pockets the rock, slips the key in the lock, and heads inside.

The air hangs heavy with the stench of must, old books, stale coffee, and sweat. It still feels like a tomb, begging for a life-giving breath of fresh summer air…and a couple of throw pillows. Dust dances in the daylight sweeping through the picture windows like an uncleanly snowstorm.

Tony takes a calming breath, lets himself relax.

Maybe he'll just hide in Gibbs' basement, drown his troubles in a jar of alcohol, and help with that boat. As he heads into the kitchen, Tony tries to ignore the single dirty plate on the counter and the coffee maker with black sludge baked onto the bottom.

"Hey boss," he calls. "I'm here for…"

How is he supposed to finish that? That he's here for a visit, a house call, to make sure Gibbs hasn't pickled himself in Bourbon yet?

He licks his lips, starts over. "Hey boss, I'm here."

Not much better, but it's something.

Making a face, Tony heads down the stairs. Maybe Gibbs is sleeping it off under the hull again, planer in one hand and whiskey bottle in the other.

But when he gets to the bottom, there isn't a boat anywhere to be found, just a pile of untouched lumber in the middle of the floor. All of Gibbs' tools hang neatly on the wall organizer, jars of screws and nails stand at attention on the workbench. Tony's brow furrows as he checks his boss' liquor cabinet, the wall behind the work bench. Just yesterday, there were rows and rows of half-drank bottles of bourbon. Now, there are two bottles of scotch blanketed in layers of dust.

Tony bites his lower lips, checks every nook and cranny in the basement. He comes up empty.

"Boss? Are you here?" he calls.

The house is silent.

He checks the upstairs anyway. It's just as depressing as the rest of the house and even more empty.

Tony ends up in Gibbs' living room with his hands on his hips, silently surveying the space. How everything can look the same but be so different, eludes him. He flicks his tongue against his cheek, glances towards the sofa. The regular sheets and bedclothes are missing. Gibbs' bed is gone, making it just a dilapidated and broken couch.

Tony's stomach somersaults and he backs towards the front door, unable to tear his eyes off the couch. He is a stranger in the place that's become his second home over the years.

_I just don't understand what's going on…_

Tendrils of fear trace their way down his spine as he steps onto the porch. He locks the door with trembling fingers.

He leaves the key under the mat and keeps the rock.


	3. Chapter 3

**5:14pm – Somewhere Near the Navy Yard –**

The only other place where someone could recognize Tony in this topsy-turvy world is NCIS. Of course, someone he works with will be able to identify him and then everything will go back to normal. Kind of like in _Freaky Friday_ where lightening flashed and the mom and daughter switched back to their original bodies. But not the updated version…Tony never did like Lindsay Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis.

None of the guards in the NCIS garage have heard of a Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. They haven't even heard of a regular old Agent Tony DiNozzo. And no, they won't let him inside without his creds. Tony tells himself they just don't like his minivan.

While he pulls out of the parking garage, his mind whirls with possibilities at what could be happening. Maybe he's in a parallel universe. Or perhaps the guards put together an extremely elaborate prank to get him back for his spectacular April Fools' trick. Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Today, it's about the only thing that does. He'll just go inside and confront the ringleader, head guard Walter.

Tony drives around the block a few times before he finds a parking space. He tries to parallel park, but parking the van is more like mooring a boat. The car ends up, half on the curb with its nose pointing in the street. Since it isn't directly in traffic, Tony kills the engine and scrambles out. For a moment, he considers locking the van, but thinks better of it. Maybe he'll get lucky and someone'll steal it.

Without looking back, Tony stalks down the steaming concrete. The closer he gets to the Navy Yard the more familiar the passersby become. Just outside the NCIS headquarters, he pauses in the middle of the evening mass exodus. It's a phenomenon he always admired, but never got to be a part of: the ability to go home at a reasonable time. Hell, he would even appreciate getting to bed before the 11 o'clock news.

His eyes follow the people milling around him.

The dayshift woman from the armory floats past, followed by Nadine from HR and Ted from accounting. Meredith, the downstairs receptionist, flashes him a winning smile like she clearly doesn't remember their torrid affair the summer after Ziva left. When he ended it, she swore he was a dead man walking.

Tony turns away just in time to see a real dead man.

The sight of Chris Pacci talking animatedly on his cell phone sends Tony backpedaling. Rolling his eyes, Pacci continues with his conversation as though nothing happened. The crowd swallows him whole and Tony gapes.

_I was at his funeral ten years ago…_

After he recovers from the ghostly encounter, a short blonde with a tight body and an even tighter skirt – whose name he thinks might just be Alicia – saunters towards him. With how his luck is going so far, she would be the one to remember him.

He runs his hand through his hair, edges himself closer to the building. As soon as he's certain that she doesn't see him, he ducks inside the building.

The drab grey-walled interior, metal detectors, and guard stations almost bring tears to his eyes. The scent of stale air, burn coffee, and sweat socks tickle his nose, making him grin like an idiot. Coming home is far better than he ever imagined and he can't wait to settle back into his desk, fling some paper airplanes at Tim, recommend movies for Ellie, and harass Gibbs until he sends them all home.

With whatever personal existential crisis he currently experiences, Tony is thankful for the consistency and stability of his life at work. Year after year, nothing ever changes. And so far, that has never been a bad thing for Tony. At least, he likes to think so.

Anxious to get back to work and normalcy, he joins the line of people checking in for night shift. Gun and backpack go through the x-ray machine, step through the metal detector, and flash the creds and his winning smile. Then he'll be ready for duty.

He sets his gaze on the solitary guard manning the x-racy machine.

Gnarled and nearly bent over at the waist, Walter Walker probably should've retired twenty years ago. For the past ten, he has been the inside man to source obscure classics to feed Tony's movie addiction like a dealer to a junkie. If anyone in the building other than Gibbs will recognize Tony, it will be him.

Hope swells in Tony's chest as he steps in front of Walter.

But he hooks a crooked finger to the opposite side of the lobby. "Visitor's passes are over there, son."

"Come on, Walt, it's me." Tony taps his fingers against his chest.

Walter squints through his thick glasses. "And you are?"

"It's me, Tony." The blank look on Walter's face turns his stomach. "Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"I'm not familiar with the name, son. Are you a new transfer?"

Tony leans forward, wild and desperate. "I've worked here for thirteen years, Walt. You checkeme in every day and I don't think you ever took a vacation since I – "

"Just got back last week." Walter flashes his fake-white denture. "Aruba. First one in ten years."

"Wow, Walt, that's great. Congratulations, I guess." Tony bites his lip, shifts his weight. "Look, Walt, you've got to know me. Don't you remember all those movies you used to bring? The DVDs? I just watched _I Was a Male War Bride_ last week. Great choice, by the way."

When recognition deepens the wrinkles on Walter's face, Tony's heart lifts.

Walter waggles his eyebrows. "That Ann Sheridan is quite a looker, ain't she?"

"So was Cary Grant in drag."

The old guard guffaws. "You got a great sense of humor, son. We could use more of that around here, but you still need a visitor's pass."

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckles as though it could keep him from going crazy.

None of this is real. Everything that happened today has to be some elaborate prank put together by the guards for payback. From that moronic dachshund to getting hit by the car to _the children,_ the guards are just getting their revenge. That's it, just revenge. Whatever he did back in April – and he sure as hell doesn't remember anymore – doesn't even compare to the level of planning this took.

He truly does admire them, but he'll do whatever they want to make it stop, even if they ask him to get down on his hands and knees to worship their superior pranking ability. Hell, he'll even go on record and admit it, as long as it gets his life back to normal.

"You got me, Walter Walker." Stepping back into the lobby, he grins up at the security camera. "All of you got me good. Nobody could pull off except for you guys in the security office."

Walter stares at Tony like he's insane. Walter squares his shoulders and moves his hand to the weapon on his hip as though an arthritic guard who can't stand up straight could be a threat.

"Who came up with this? You, Walt? Bravo." Tony claps. "Bravo to all of you."

"Son, I need you to calm down."

"Or what?" He laughs. "You'll call security on me?"

Unholstering his gun, Walter reaches for his walkie-talkie. Tony can't stop laughing as though getting gunned down in the agency lobby could be funny. When Walter squints at something over Tony's shoulder, he glances back to find a tall, thickly-built guard with dark hair. From where Tony stands, he thinks the name tag might read _Terrence._

Terrence grabs Tony's upper arm. "I got this one, Walt."

"Good." Before he turns to the next person in line, Walter adds: "Nut," under his breath.

"I need to talk to Agent Gibbs," Tony says.

Terrence drags him back to the entrance. Tony desperately tries to free himself, but the vice-like grip on his arm doesn't budge. Once they're at the front door, Terrence meets Tony's eyes.

"It's a matter of life and death," Tony tries.

"You and I both know it isn't, Agent DiNozzo." Terrence's voice is as smooth as silk.

Tony's eyes widen. "Wait, you…you know who I am? Really?"

"Of course, I do."

"Then what the hell is going on?" Tony growls.

Terrence smiles like a used car salesman. "You have been offered a glimpse, Agent DiNozzo. To see what your life could have been if you made one different decision."

Tony barks hysterical laughter, the last traces of hope to return to his normal life fading into nothingness. "Oh Christ, what is this? _It's a Wonderful Life?_ Was Clarence busy so I got the second string angel, Terrence?"

"You know that's just a movie right?"

The reaction only makes Tony laugh until his sides ache, until tears slip down his cheeks, until he is afraid he might split in two. Because the guards aren't pulling a joke on him, the entire freaking universe is. Nothing might've been easy before, but this is fucked up.

Eventually, his roars morph into quiet chuckles. When he's done, he scrubs his hands against his cheeks.

"So that's it?" Tony asks hoarsely. "I get hit by a car and the universe gives me what? A second chance to do something that I don't understand. Don't you think that's messed up?"

Terrence shrugs. "It's better not to ask questions."

"I just want to go home," Tony says.

"I'm sorry, but it's not that easy."

Tony makes a face. "Fine, then what do I have to do? Realize my family and my friends need me? Learn some idiotic lesson about myself? Learn to feel again?"

"I'm not here to tell you that." When Tony glares at him, Terrence offers an apologetic smile. "I'm only here to show you how when you're done with your glimpse."

After Terrence reaches into his back pocket, he produces a small pink and purple noisemaker. It looks like it would be more at home at Times Square on New Year's Eve, then the NCIS lobby in the dog days of summer. He offers it to Tony's hand like it's the Holy Grail.

"You use that when you're ready to go home," Terrence starts. "It'll – "

Tony whirls the noisemaker, not caring that everyone stares at him like he's crazy. Right now, he believes their perception might be turning into reality. He just might be going crazy. Closing his eyes, he spins the noisemaker with everything he has. He even taps his heels together three times for good measure. When he opens his eyes, Terrence's agitated face hangs inches from his own.

Tony holds the noisemaker out. "It doesn't work."

"If you'd let me finish." Terrence forces a smile through clenched teeth. "After you learn the lesson that your glimpse offers you, it'll take you home."

"And what's the lesson?" Tony asks.

Terrence sighs as though the conversation pains his very existence. "That's for you to find out. Unfortunately, us - " he actually uses air quotes " 'second string guardian angels' don't know as much as the higher ups do. So maybe you should ask Clarence." His nose wrinkles in disgust. "I'll see you around, Agent DiNozzo."

At that moment, Terrence tosses Tony back out into the summer heat. Tony stands there for a long time, glaring at the security guardian – angel, whatever the hell Terrence is. Even after Terrence points towards the parking lot, Tony doesn't move. When other guards begin to cluster around the door, backs straight and weapons in hand, Tony realizes he can't win this fight. While a night in NCIS lock-up would give him a place to sleep, it probably won't help him get home.

Sighing, he slinks away. He whirls the noisemaker the whole way to the van and of course, the damned thing doesn't work. And of course, no one stole the freaking van because no dirtbag wants it either.

Tony folds himself into the driver's seat, chucks the noisemaker over his shoulder hard enough that it almost breaks the back window. He stabs the key into the ignition as though it's responsible for all of his problems.

"G-damn it." He pounds his hands on the steering wheel. "What the hell is this?"

He throws the car in drive, wanders the traffic-filled city streets as he struggles to make sense of his situation. Alone in a world he doesn't recognize with a family he doesn't know. And for what? To learn some freaking life lesson. But all he has learned so far was that the universe was just as fucked up as everything else in his life. Oh yeah and that nothing could ever be easy.

_I can't even die right. Instead of heaven, I get whatever the hell this place is._

Tony narrows his eyes at the sky.

Outside the car, the neighborhood around the Navy Yard blurs into the abandoned and rusted out factories of Southwest before blending into the lush green and monuments of the National Mall. More traffic, more cars than he remembers ever seeing before. He suddenly remembers one of the perks of not driving home at a reasonable time. No traffic, no people, uninterrupted views of the city.

Sighing, he makes a right off the main drag. He takes the back roads, away from all of the tourist crap and government buildings up to his apartment in Judiciary Square. When he's just about there, a familiar sight comes into view on the sidewalk. Smack dab between an upscale Chinese place and an androgynous clothing store with an identity crisis, it's a watering hole he knows far too well.

He hangs a U-turn into oncoming traffic, then attempts to parallel park again the van between a couple of Smart cars. Even on the second try, it's still more like berthing a boat than parking. He maroons it, half in traffic and half on the curb.

But he doesn't care because his attention is lasered on the art deco speakeasy.

As he ducks inside, he pops his collar up to ward off the chill from the air conditioner. He squints through the dim lights and soaks up the familiarity of the bar. The hint of a smile rises to his lips. The scent of fresh beer, peanuts, and Buffalo sauce come with every breath.

He exhales through his teeth, wonders how many hours of his life he spent wasting away here after Ziva. Shaking his head, he chases away the unwanted memories.

Tony claims a barstool and leans his elbows against the mahogany bar that's gone smooth from the countless people who have done the same thing. Bottles of alcohol line on lighted shelves glow like a boozy rainbow. He yearns for them.

The bartender, an older man with a handlebar mustache, heads over.

"What can I get ya, Detective DiNozzo?" he asks.

Tony blinks. "Detective?"

"Okay, fine, Pig-Head Detective DiNozzo. How's that?" The bartender laughs, rolls his eyes. "That's what all of the boys around here call you anyway."

Tony fakes a chuckle. "You know what, just bring me the usual."

He's still a detective.

Oh Christ, now he really needs a drink. A bottle of scotch or whiskey. Hell, he might even be able to get through one of Gibbs' bourbons without gagging.

He sure as hell doesn't expect the bottle of light beer that lands in front of him. But he drinks it anyway and it tastes like warm piss. He nurses the beer for what feels like forever. The bartender tries for conversation, but Tony ignores him. So he gets the booby prize of a basket of peanuts and another beer, the bartender gets a twenty dollar tip. Overhead, a television chatters away to itself about world events, sports scores, and the weather for the upcoming weekend. Tony only half-listens.

The post-news game shows are just starting when someone slides onto the adjacent stool. Tony catches motion out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't look over. He sure as shit doesn't want to talk to the person who decides it's a good idea to sit next to someone in a nearly empty bar.

Seconds later, the bartender brings a glass of white wine.

_Only one person I know orders white wine in a bar._

When he glances over, Tony chokes into his drink.

Tim McGee wears an easy grin. "You're a hard man to find, Tony."

Tony gapes. "Tim? You know me?"


	4. Chapter 4

**7:15pm – Blind Justice Bar and Grille – Judiciary Square, Washington, DC –**

"Of course, I do," Tim says, laughing. "You are my neighbor, after all."

"Neighbor?" Tony squeaks, his voice jumping an octave.

Concern slowly replaces the humor on Tim's face. Based on the look in the younger man's eyes, Tony isn't sure whether Tim plans to haul him off to the looney bin or buy him another beer. If today keeps going the way it has, Tony will be tying his own straight jacket by midnight.

"Going on five years." Tim tilts his head. "How much have you had to drink, Tony?"

Two beers down and he's still stone-cold sober. "Not enough."

"Yeah." Tim sips his wine patiently. "We all have those days."

"What do you mean?"

"We all have one of those 'oh shit' moments where you look around and wonder where the hell _your_ life went. You wonder how you could go from a single guy to a married one with kids." He shrugs as though Tony's Twilight Zone experience is perfectly normal. "You aren't the only one who gets them, but you tend to be a bit more…" he bites his lips, settles for "…dramatic about it."

If Tim were trying to be tactful, he fails miserably. Tony tightens his grip around the beer bottle until his knuckles turns white. Tim rests his hand on Tony's forearm, preventing him from taking the next slug of alcohol that he needs more than his next breath.

"Look, Tony, you and I both know you do." Tim treads as diplomatically as he can. "There's a reason why Zoe calls them, 'moments of temporary insanity.' You freak out, head to a bar, and get trashed. It isn't healthy." He makes a face. "Do you even remember getting here?"

"Nope," Tony says.

Tim stays silent, probably letting whatever point he thinks he just made resonate.

Tony drums his fingers on the bar, fiddles with a sticky ring of soda that never got wiped up. As long as there is someone here who knows him – and what the hell is going on – he could very well play along, try to find out as much information as he can. Somewhere deep within him an itch rises, long-buried and almost forgotten. The excitement that comes with an undercover job.

_But how am I supposed to play myself?_

Tony smiles at Tim. "How did you know where I was?"

His neighbor winks. "I'm psychic."

_And I'm psycho._ "No, really?"

"This is your favorite bar. Plus, we get a complimentary drink after a shift."

Tony's eyelid twitches. "We?"

"Um, yeah. Almost everyone from the station comes here. Old Scott – " Tim waves at the bartender as he passes " – got robbed at gunpoint a couple of years ago. You helped arrest the guy."

"Of course, I did."

Tony slides his arm out of Tim's grasp and polishes off the rest of the beer. He wonders how many drinks he puts away here. Back home, whiskeys would continue longer after he told the barman he was done, closed out his tab, and tried to stumble the four blocks home. Clarity tends to come to him after the bottle runs dry, when his senses grow numb, when self-doubt and insecurity abandon him for someone more sober.

But at that moment, he catches his reflection in the dusty mirror behind the bar. Staring back is the same person he saw the day Gibbs got shot. It's a face Tony has grown to hate, one that can only be exorcised by a Scotch on the rocks and a bunch of gin and tonic chasers. He looks exhausted, terrified, and old. Like a caged animal, locked up and forgotten for decades.

He screws his lips in disgust as he pushes the empty beer bottle away.

Then he looks–really looks–at Tim for the first time. His former partner is softer with no real muscles to speak of, likely from far too much time behind a desk. Gone are the wrinkles on his forehead from squinting at a computer and in their place are laugh lines permanently etched into his cheeks. Tony drops his gaze to Tim's hands. His left ring finger wears a simple gold band while his left index finger is pristine, uncalloused. Married, it seems, and no longer living at the gun range.

Tim sneaks a sip of wine, glances back at the door. His movements are easy, relaxed, and he might even be…happy. This world, dare Tony say, looks good on him.

"So are you ready to go home?" Tim asks suddenly.

Tony just shakes his head. He wants to sit here until he learns the secret to making it all work, until he makes sense of his sudden family, and more importantly, until he figures out how the hell to go home.

"Okay, we'll stay." Tim stares dead ahead, mesmerized by something in the booze selection. Probably trying to calculate how much Tony has already packed away. "Just tell me when you're ready."

"Thanks."

Nodding, Tim drinks his wine while Tony frees the condensation soaked label from his beer bottle. He rips it into long, water-logged ribbons and then, shreds them even further until there's nothing left but a pile of damp paper. He works at the task as though by its completion could restore his sanity.

Neither of them speak and Tony savors the normalcy, just him and his friend–Tony hopes to G-d they're friends here too–at the bar sharing a drink. He doesn't have to close his eyes to pretend they're finishing out a case, pretend they're celebrating the arrest of that asshole, Petty Officer Mulroney and carting the hellhound to the pound.

_Goliath, my ass._

Somewhere over their heads, one of the bar's many televisions plays a syndicated sitcom–the one where nothing always turned out to something. The canned laughter reminds him that it wasn't funny the first time around. It bleeds into another and another still. Great, a marathon. 

Eventually, someone changes the channel to an infomercial as though someone here might need to order a pan that shapes bacon into flowers. Tony considers it, even reaches his for a cell phone. Maybe it would be a way to win back Zoe's heart–if he even lost it, but who knows? Does she still like bacon?

Instead of learning how to make a bacon rose bouquet for his…wife, Tony orders a rum and coke. Extra coke, hold the rum. The bartender looks at him as though he's gone crazy, but brings it anyway. Sobriety taught Tony that it's easier to blend in with the barflies if he drinks soda out of a highball glass. People tend to ask less questions, be more open when they think you're neck and neck with them in the race to alcohol-infused oblivion. Plus, it just makes him feel more normal.

Tim tosses him a sideways glance.

"I figured I didn't need another beer." But Tony doesn't think it's that, so he asks: "Something on your mind, Tim?"

His friend flags down the bartender for another glass of wine. While he waits for it to arrive, he grips the bar and his knuckles blanch against the wood.

"I was just thinking about the last time we sat here like this." Tim's voice is so quiet that Tony has to lean closer to hear him.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time we just sat here drinking, not talking about a case or the kids." The very thought makes Tony's eyelid twitch. "It just reminded me of that night."

While the bartender drops off Tim's refill, Tony has a moment of silence to rack his brain for anything that could've possibly happened in this world, to this Tim. He comes up empty because here, his friend is a stranger. Silence curls around them like a cat, settles down between them. Minutes pass under the guise of hours as Tony stares at Tim with rapt attention.

Lost in his own mind, Tim swirls his wine. His hazy, absent eyes stare at it without seeing.

"Do you want to talk about it, Tim?" Tony asks.

Even though his face clearly says he doesn't, Tim half-nods anyway. Tony rubs the back of his neck, thankful for the chance to learn something about this place and apprehensive at what could come from the conversation. He swigs of his soda and it tastes watered down.

Tim sighs quietly. "I just can't believe it has been six months since the accident."

Tony schools his face with concern, says like a confused idiot: "I'm sorry."

Tim shrugs like nothing really matters. "Time heals everything, right? Look, Tony, I know you always tell me that it wasn't…" he swallows hard, cheeks going ghastly white "…isn't my fault, but it's so hard seeing Delilah in that wheelchair every day. Sometimes I can't help but think…" His voice trails off as he retreats back into his guilty conscience.

Tony elbows his friend's shoulder. "Think what?"

"That if we hadn't been coming back from that conference so late, I might not have fallen asleep at the wheel. That we might not have crashed, that she might still be walking..." Tim's heartbroken smile sneaks out in full-force. "Most days, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

"Stay strong. For her."

"And that is what's so hard."

Memories of Gibbs' hard-lived recovery after the gunshot come flooding back to Tony. Vicodin mixed with bourbon only soured his boss' perpetual foul mood. Tony's daily visits were met with anger and derision and rage, but Tony understood the mental anguish of a bullet was far worse than the physical. So he kept at it, showing up with a smile and steady hands until Gibbs got over himself. Before Tony got transported here, they still hadn't made it over the rainbow.

"I've been there too, Tim. You just take it one minute at a time," Tony says, earning him a welcome smile. "Don't forget to be grateful that neither of you were killed."

"Believe me, I am. And I'm so thankful that Matty stayed with you and Zoe that night." His expression turns panicked. "Because if something had happened to him, I never - "

Tony grips Tim's arm and squeezes hard. "But it didn't."

Tim's features relax ever so slightly, his head bobbing like a wind-up toy. "You're right, Tony, I know you're right. That's exactly what you told me when you brought me here after we got the news. Back when I couldn't look my son in the eye."

"And now?"

"Not perfect, but it's better."

Better, maybe that's all Tony could've ask for. Instead of taking every nasty word and every insult Gibbs hurled at him to heart, maybe Tony was supposed to remember that his boss was under the influence of whatever pills and booze he swallowed that day. Maybe he should've been glad for the days Gibbs asked him to help plane the boat hull or meditate on why black coffee wasn't a delicacy the world over, not focusing on how many times the door slammed in his face.

"You've got to start somewhere," Tony says as much for Tim's benefit as his own.

Tim sighs like nothing in the world will ever be right again.

_I'm right there with you, Probster.  
_

Glancing in the mirror, Tony surveys the nearly empty bar over his shoulder. Only a few older, sallow-faced men sit at the tables alone nursing bottles of beer and whiskey in highball glasses. He even catches the ghost of himself haunting the corner. In a designer suit and crooked tie, the specter hunches over a drink and what might be case files. Their eyes meet and Tony holds his stare, waiting for some reaction. The man just turns back to his work.

"Ready to go home, Tony?" Tim asks quietly, pleadingly.

Tony nods. "Yeah."

As he rises from his seat, Tim chucks several bills next to his nearly full glass of wine. Mechanically, Tony follows his neighbor out of the bar.

The muggy summer night leaves the sweat slithering down the small of his back, but it's a welcome change to the icy tundra of the bar. Tony glances up to watch the moon play peek-a-boo behind the thick clouds. It's so close that he swears the man in the moon is laughing at his predicament. Bastard.

Tony heads for the van – half-parked in the street, half-berthed on the curb. A passing car slows down to avoid its bumper and Tony pangs with regret that the damned thing doesn't get hit.

Tim catches his arm, leads him away. "Nice try, Tony, but you don't get to take the Batmobile home tonight."

Tony blinks. "The what?"

"Batmobile." Tim laughs. "That's what Riley called it after you dressed up like The Joker for Halloween."

_Riley must be my daughter's name._

The very thought of her, that scowling baby, those freaking Barbie shoes, the very pissed-off Zoe brings acid to the back of his tongue. He coughs into the back of his hand, ready to bolt down the street.

"Do you think Zoe could help Matty with his Halloween costume this year?" Tim smiles at some happier memory, his teeth glowing under the sulfuric glow of the streetlamps. "Zoe did such a good job with Riley's Robin costume last year. And while Delilah tried her best, Matty really didn't like wearing a towel for a Batman cape."

Stopping in his tracks, Tony sizes up whether Tim could catch him when he makes a run for it. Maybe he would have been better off sleeping in the NCIS holding cell rather than a house with his – what the hell is he supposed to call those people? At least, Zoe wouldn't be able to kick his ass if he were locked behind steel bars.

"I bet it was fine," Tony says, carefully considering an exit route.

"Yeah, kind of like the face paint she bought for my Mr. Freeze costume."

_Scratch the alley._ "I thought it was great…"

"I know you did. You only made fun of me for months afterwards."

Tony turns back to Tim, his escape momentarily forgotten. Now, he _has_ to know.

"Refresh my memory," he says. "It's been a long day."

"She bought professional strength movie make-up off the internet. Don't you remember how it wouldn't wash off? I was blue for over a week." Tim shakes his head. "You got all the guys in the squad room to call me Smurfette."

Tony wishes he knew what the hell Tim is rambling on about, almost wishes he could've been here to experience it with them. The moment sounds so mundane, so ordinary, so much like something he never had growing up with his family. Batman and Robin costumes sounds infinitely better than when his mom let him dress up like that astronaut. That's one of the only things he still remembers about her. Oh, and her weird obsession with shrimp cocktail after she chugged his Sea Monkeys during a bender.

Despite the heat, Tony hugs his arms to his chest.

He never got to experience a real family. Okay, so he got the kind that shipped him off to military schools because it was convenient or forgot to pick him up at the airport or skipped every single sports game. But what good was his dad anyway? And yes, he had an adopted group of coworkers who bonded over cases and grew as close as siblings. Okay, so they would always be his real family.

But he always wanted a real, honest-to-G-d one with shared genetics and huge dinners and Christmas mornings and trick-or-treating…and happy memories.

_Maybe I could see what all the fuss is about…just until I figure out how to get home._

Further up the block, Tim pauses by a silver Audi station wagon.

"Hey, Tony," he calls, "are you coming?"

Tony catches up in time for his friend to unlock the car. When he slides into the passenger seat, he gapes at the interior. It has top of the line everything. Huge navigation screen, sports package, leather bucket seats, carbon fiber accents. Sticking out of the steering wheel are a bunch of levers that would look more at home on a space ship, not a car for soccer moms.

"Did you bring Delilah's car?" Tony asks.

Tim shakes his head. "I just wanted to give her to be able to drive mine, if she wanted. But you know, she'll never give up her Jetta."

"She probably likes how it feels." Tony glances back at the bar. "Normal."

Tim's smile is thin, at best. "I bet it's something like that."

When he starts the car, its engine purrs to life. The navigation screen's glow rivals the moonlight and both bask the interior in a soft, ethereal glow. An odd sense of peace rolls over Tony as he zones out at the sight of the on-screen map. But even though the street names, the intersections, and the turns are all familiar, the destination is as much a stranger as the person driving him there.


	5. Chapter 5

**10:38pm – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

When Tim stops the Audi by a mailbox, Tony takes in the cozy Craftsman at the end of the driveway. In the moonlight, the dark house glows like an alien landscape in a big budget blockbuster. Foreboding and terrifying and unexplored, nothing like his pristine Judiciary Square apartment.

Pressing his lips together, Tony half-listens to Tim ramble from the driver's seat.

They'll just go get the Batmobile tomorrow after work, Tim tells him. They can carpool tomorrow since their schedules line up for the first time in a week. They do this all the time. All the freaking time and no, Tim doesn't mind. Eight o'clock, Tim says. Tony better be ready at by eight.

Tony doesn't say a word, just nods mechanically like he's heard all this before. Then he climbs out of the car and stands on the curb to stare at his house like it is an impenetrable fortress. He doubts the 'welcome' sign in the garden even applies to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Tim maneuver his car into the neighboring driveway. The garage door glides open just long enough to swallow the Audi whole before it rumbles closed, sweeping the last traces of light away.

Fireflies dance and swirl around Tony, concerned merely by the beauty of each other and the heat of the night. Mesmerized, Tony holds his hand out to one. The insect's green underbelly flashes against his palm, earning it a grateful smile.

They always did remind him of that one good trip he took with his parents. Right before his mother died, he and his parents spent a long weekend in Nantucket. After a long day spent fishing and swimming, his mother helped him catch fireflies in unwashed pickle jars. It was a funny thing, just how disoriented they got by the fumes. When the dream was over, he let them all go. They flew away, drunk off pickle juice and confused by the sun like they were the only sources of light in the world.

Swallowing hard, Tony finds a kindred spirit in those fireflies. Like them, he is lost and confused in a place that is still the same and yet, so different from the one he knows.

For a half second, Tony considers sleeping outside among the fireflies. But from here, he can only make out a lawn chair and a pink plastic swimming pool on the porch. He makes a face in the dark, understanding that isn't a viable option.

Should he steal the little red sports car or roll the dice for domestic bliss?

If this Zoe is anything like the real one, she'd kick his ass for stealing her car and staying out all night. Plus, there's always the chance he might wake up in his own bed, wondering what the hell was in the Chinese food that sent him through the looking glass like Alice.

He stalks across the yard, the too-tall grass whips at his ankles.

A single porch light burns by the front door, beckoning him towards it, welcoming him home.

But is this really home? It sure as shit doesn't feel like it.

All of the windows are dark; Zoe probably went to bed hours ago. He fumbles through his pockets, but only finds his wallet. He bets his keys are still in the van. Momentarily, his heart lifts. Maybe some family minded thug will steal it as a present for his baby mama and then, Tony can get a car like Tim's.

A flicker of a smile spreads across his lips.

_Don't even think like that. You're not staying._

Tony tries the door, not surprised that it's unlocked. Zoe could kick anyone's ass – she did kick Tim's the first time they met, after all – and she could probably still do it here. He wonders whether she still keeps a loaded gun in her nightstand. With two little kids, he doubts it. She always was the responsible one.

After sneaking inside, he locks the door. He pulls his shoes off, then heads into the living room. Moonlight streams through the big bay window, making it bright enough for him to see the eruption from the toy volcano that never got cleaned up. He creeps through the clutter, praying to whatever deity is paying attention that he doesn't find another Barbie shoe. Just when he thinks he could be a religious man, pain shoots, white-hot, from his heel all the way up his leg.

"Motherfucker," he whispers. "Son of a bitch."

Instead of a Barbie shoe, he extricates a Lego from the ball of his foot. He chucks it across the room, and it _plinks_ satisfyingly somewhere in the darkness.

Good riddance.

Muttering and cursing, he limps into the modest kitchen. White cabinets and stainless steel and miles of granite make it resemble something out of a home renovation show where the homeowners spend way too much money to make houses look beautiful just for the hell of it. But here, in the dark and the moonlight, it makes him surprisingly nostalgic. Even though Tony is convinced that kitchens are really nothing more than spaces meant to impress guests.

A glint next to the sink catches his eye. Pots and pans dry alongside a line of baby bottles in a dish rack. He inhales deeply, catches the scent of pasta sauce that haunts the space like the ghost of his Nonna DiNozzo. His mouth instantly waters.

_Someone here cooks._

To test his theory, Tony checks the fridge to find spaghetti, lasagna, cheesecake, and steak, all perfectly preserved in Tupperware. They're labeled, dated, and signed like Zoe tried to preserve the chain of culinary evidence.

He grabs the closest one, digs through the drawers for a fork. Without pausing to consider whether he needs to sign out his dinner, he digs into the spaghetti. His mouth nearly has a freaking orgasm at the taste of his grandmother's top secret family sauce.

_Dad wouldn't even share it with me, but he told Zoe. What the hell?_

Tony scarfs the whole thing and leaves the empty container in the sink like an offering to the patron saint of prepackaged dinners.

After one last look around the heart of a home he doesn't recognize, he sneaks down the darkened hallway towards the bedrooms. Sure, climbing into bed with a stranger who's supposed to be his wife might not be a good idea. But he doesn't have a better one.

Picture frames of a life he never lived follow him down the hall, but it's too dark to make out the images. With a heavy heart, he slinks past the closed doors - one has a little bumblebee on it while the other has a drawing of a unicorn done by a child's unsteady hand - to the one that's ajar.

Just inside, he finds Zoe lying on a huge bed. Her breathing is soft and even, but he knows she isn't asleep. She spent far too many years in law enforcement to sleep through a home invasion.

Still in his clothes, he settles down next to her. Even here, she is warm and comforting, a lot like coming home after a year at sea. She rolls over, her dark eyes glinting in the moonlight.

_I always forget how beautiful she is…_

"Tony." Her voice is low and ominous, a warning.

"Zoe, I didn't…" he feels like he's supposed to apologize, but he doesn't know what for "…mean for earlier. I guess I just had a bad day."

"Yeah, Tony, I know. I understand you get those…" she props herself up on her elbows, tilts her head "…urges to run, but you need to talk to me about it."

He nods. "I know. I guess I didn't think."

"You never do." She laughs like they have this conversation all the time, like it isn't funny anymore. "I think in fifteen years, you thought about it once."

Pushing himself upright, he holds her gaze. "What do you mean?'

"That night you packed up your apartment in Philly. The one where you called me before you moved to Timbuktu. You – "

"Peoria."

She squints at him. "What?"

He swallows hard, struggles to find his voice. "I moved…I was about to move to Illinois."

"I know. If you hadn't let me talk you out of it, we never would have had this." She holds her arms out to highlight their little slice of suburban paradise like it's something Tony could be head over heels about.

His stomach rolls, bringing the taste of spaghetti to his tongue.

_Holy shit, I never left Philly. I never joined NCIS. What the fu -_

She curls into him, her body instantly relaxing as though she's been doing this for a lifetime. And in whatever screwed up reality he's stuck in, she probably has. He clutches her as though letting her go could make him forget who he is…who he was. Oh hell, he doesn't even know anymore.

She takes his hand, lacing and unlacing her fingers with his.

"You know I wasn't upset that you disappeared," Zoe says, too easily. It feels like a trap. "But next time, just tell me so I won't make the girls wait on dinner. By the way, are you hungry? I can - "

"I already found it in the fridge." He smiles, a little guilty. "It was great, thanks."

"You're welcome."

All of a sudden, her body goes rigid and she pulls away. Even though they're inches apart, there are entire worlds between them.

Tony puts his hand on her shoulder and she turns around in time for him to catch the tear snaking down her cheek. His heart clenches.

Hand him any woman and he can calm them down, win them over, schmooze the pants right off of them. But when they cry, he doesn't what the hell to do other than run. Not to mention when Zoe is upset, people get hurt…or shot. And being run over was more than enough for today…

He bolts upright. "Zoe, talk to me."

"Sometimes I just worry that one day I won't be enough to keep you here. That the girls won't be enough..." She bites her lower lip, glances to the other side of the room. "I'm terrified one day that you'll leave and you won't look back."

He cups her cheeks, eases her face towards his. "Not again, Zoe. I won't leave you again."

"What do you mean again?" Her laugh comes, confused and awkward.

He clears his throat, fumbles. "What happened earlier won't happen again. I'll tell you when I'm going somewhere and talk to you when I freak out."

Seeming to accept his promise, she relaxes into him again. He pulls her back down to the bed and she snuggles into the crook of his shoulder just like she always did back home. He runs his hand through her hair, concentrating on the feel of her breath on his chest and the thud of her heart.

The world starts to grey around the edges like today has just been one weird, incredibly messed up dream. He wants to hold it tight, remember this moment of what could've been his. Something that might be regret bubbles up in his chest.

_I never got a chance to meet my children._

Just as he's about to drift away, someone screams like they're in the process of being dismembered. He jumps to his feet, on high alert and reaching for his empty hip. But Zoe doesn't even flinch.

She just glances up with sleep-filled eyes. "Since you're already up, do you mind checking on Phoebe?"

_That must be the baby. How the hell am I supposed to make that stop?_

Huffing, she rolls over. "And tell Riley to go to bed. I swear that girl's nocturnal."


	6. Chapter 6

**11:27pm - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony follows the shrieking, hoping to hell and back that he'll figure out a way to make it stop. He sneaks into the baby's room, flicks on the light, but she just keeps screaming. Massaging his temples, he doesn't understand why he thought it would be so easy.

Turning on the lights works for little kids who are afraid of the dark, not babies who don't even know what it is…right? Right?

How the fuck is he supposed to know?

The most exposure he ever had to a baby was that one time he went to visit Jimmy Palmer and his wife after their daughter's birth. She was a perfect little angel who woke up just in time to barf all over him.

The baby gives her lungs another work-out and Tony cringes at the noise. He needs to try something now before Zoe wakes up again. Hell, before she wakes up the entire freaking neighborhood. He lingers at the edge of Phoebe's crib, stares down at the tiny person. Her face is scrunched up and her limbs spasm from the effort.

"What do you want?" he asks, as though she would just tell him, as though he doesn't have to play the guessing game, as though the noise doesn't make him want to rip his hair out.

Phoebe's response is a particularly shrill shriek that rattles the window panes.

On reflex, he scoops her out of the crib. The softness and fragility of her tiny, baby body make him freeze. Panic grips him and he stands stock-still, holding her out at arm's length like she's a live grenade. One wrong move could break her, shatter her into a million pieces.

"Hey, Phoebe, why don't you go back to sleep? That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

He bounces her up and down, but she wriggles in his grasp. Another earth-shattering wail rips straight through him, dangerously close to destroying what little bit of sanity he has left.

He racks his brain, desperate to remember what Jimmy used to say when he rambled about his newborn daughter. Did he check her diaper first? Or stuff her full of formula? Was there some song that he was supposed to sing or avoid?

_Maybe I'm supposed to hop around on one foot while singing "Baby Got Back."_

Closing his eyes, Tony curses—real curse words—under his breath. That'll teach him to zone out while Jimmy talked about something as unimportant as diaper brands.

Tony bites his lip, filled with a sudden and new-found respect for Jimmy.

_Any person who can make decisions right now is a total badass. I've been calmer while defusing bombs._

At that moment, a foul stench tickles his nose. It smells like a corpse buried underneath a pile of garbage and left in the summer sun for weeks. His stomach lurches, making him gag into his arm. When he checks Phoebe's diaper, he instantly wishes that he hadn't.

So he carries her over to the changing table, stares at her as though she might change herself. Of course, she only screams louder. He struggles to get the diaper off, gags some more, and finally, tosses the offending thing into the trashcan. He tries to clean her up, but she wriggles her little body away from him.

_Cleaning a baby's ass might just be harder than shooting a moving target._

Getting her into a diaper isn't much easier. He rips the tabs clean off the first one and somehow, the second gets stuck to the back of his elbow. He curses under his breath and Phoebe pauses crying long enough to laugh at him. He fumbles to keep her still, pry that damn diaper off his arm.

"Motherfu…" she stares up at him with wide eyes "…dgescile."

The third time turns out to be the charm for him as he not only puts the diaper on her, but even closes the tabs around her legs too. But when he lifts her, the diaper slides straight off her. Grumbling, he kicks it clear across the room and it gets swallowed by a pile of baby toys.

Phoebe grins at him as she chews on her fingers like they're the last thing she'll ever eat. He might think it cute if the drool didn't run down her cheeks, her onesie, and all over his freaking arm. With a sigh, he places Phoebe back on the changing table and wipes his forearm on the back of his pants.

He pulls out the fourth diaper. It's the last one in the pile and it has to work, so help him. The last thing he needs to wake Zoe up from her beauty sleep because if she gets disturbed…well, it won't be pretty.

_Save me Obi Wan Pamper-oni, you are my only hope._

So he does what any responsible parent would do. He leaves Phoebe in search of duct tape.

The baby starts screaming again. Pounding kicks up somewhere deep inside his brain. The headache feels like back to back all-nighters with no caffeine and Gibbs on a head-slapping rampage. He pinches the bridge of his nose as though it could ward off the ache. After search the house, he turns up the duct tape under the sink, right next to a collection of dust-covered, unopened cleaning products.

While he's on his way back, the house grows silent. His heart plummets into his stomach.

_Did something happen to her?_

He sprints back into her room, then stops dead.

The little girl from earlier looms next to the change table. Her hand rests on the baby's stomach while she stares at him as though she's been readying for their confrontation all day. She wears the same expression he spent hours perfecting in the mirror while he was the police academy.

_That's Riley. My…my…my daughter._

He attempts an easy smile, but it comes off as a terrified grimace. As he hides the duct table behind his back, sweat blossoms to his forehead.

Silently, he heads to the changing table and Riley slides away from the baby. She keeps her distance, studies him with uncertainty and curiosity. And is that a touch of fear?

Her eyes bore into him, but he continues to finish Phoebe's diaper and even adds a few pieces of duct tape for good measure. Then he picks the baby up, headed for the crib.

"You should feed her too," Riley says, suddenly.

He stops dead in his tracks. The sound of her voice echoes, bounces off the toys and the fluffy cloud shaped wall coverings before it resonates through him. His eyes grow itchy and he tells himself it's from how high-pitched and squeaky she is, not that he just heard his child to him speak for the first time.

Then, he snaps out of it and puts Phoebe back to her crib.

"If you don't," Riley interject, "she'll just be up in an hour."

Phoebe stares up at him with a mischievous, toothless smile like there is some grand kid conspiracy to keep him from getting any sleep. Rolling his eyes, he picks her up and turns back to Riley.

"I think it's time for you to head back to bed, young lady," he says, trying to sound authoritative, parental. To his own ears, it sounds like he just asked a suspect to lay down their weapon.

Riley tilts her head as though she doesn't know how to take him. Instead of listening, she leads the way to the kitchen and parks herself at the table. He follows and under her watchful stare, he racks his brain at what he's supposed to feed a baby. They have to like baby formula, right?

He grabs a bottle out of the fridge, checks with Riley whether he's doing it right, but her expression tells him nothing. Sighing, he pops the bottle in the microwave. He swears he saw Jimmy do this during his visit. One minute, check the temperature on his hand. Maybe, just maybe will work for his daughter too. All babies have to be the same because well, they're freaking babies.

When it's done—and after he confirms that it won't burn her—he offers the bottle to Phoebe. She takes one sip before she recoils, gagging and hiccupping and shrieking. He tries again, but she jerks her head back like he offers poison.

_What the hell?_

Riley grabs a bottle straight out of the fridge, sidles up next to them. He's desperate enough to try anything to make her stop. Hell, he'd probably even make a deal with the devil right now just for a few moments' peace. When he lays the bottle against her lips, she sucks it down like she'll never eat again.

"She likes her formula cold." Riley shrugs, wrinkles her nose. "Mom says she's a weird baby."

How quickly Phoebe packs the formula away fascinates him. It doesn't take long before the formula runs dry and her eyes start to droop. He chucks the bottle into the sink, smiles as she snuggles up against his chest. She dozes, her hand gripping around the front of his shirt. Some feeling he hasn't had in a long time bubbles inside him, but he doesn't recognize it.

"Say, Riley, shouldn't you head to bed?" he asks.

Shaking her head, she reclaims her seat at the table. "I'm kind of thirsty…"

Every part of him knows that she's testing him, but the pitiful look in her eye spurs him onward. It's almost like when Zoe pouts with her lower lip jutting out and he loses his freaking mind. He prefers that over when she gets pissed because that's usually when he's about to lose his life.

He heads back to the fridge, stares blankly at the containers of orange and apple juice, three different kinds of milk, and enough juice boxes to feed an entire classroom for a year. Kids must drink different stuff than babies. Oh shit, what's the right choice here?

He takes a shot in the dark and grabs a hot pink juice box. When he places it in front of her, she flinches like he just brought her a monkey head like in _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom._

Her face goes white. "You're not my dad, are you?"

He takes a step back, barks an awkward laugh. "Of course, I am..."

"You look like him, but…" she glance up with tears in her eyes "…but…but you don't know what to do. Dad always knows Phoebe likes cold bottles and I drink…" they start down her cheeks, sending Tony into panic-mode "…chocolate milk…when I…I….I can't sleep."

Riley buries her face in her hands and her tiny wails make his heart ache, rip his soul to shreds.

Going undercover as anyone – even yourself, apparently – only works when no one knows you as intimately as a spouse or a child. He stands stock-still, wishing the floor would swallow him up before he has to explain the whole crazy situation to an eight-year old.

"It's all my fault," she murmurs. "This is all my fault."

Even though his body tells him to run like hell, he takes the seat next to her. Hysterical women are one thing and children are another one entirely. Put them together and Tony think he'd probably be safer sleeping in the garage, but he can't stand to watch the little girl cry.

He puts his hand on her shoulder, shocked when she jerks away.

"Talk to me, Riley," he says as soothingly as he can. "You can trust me."

She looks up, horrified, her brown eyes shimmering behind the tears. "My dad…grounded me and I…I wished he would disappear. And…he…he…he did."

"I'm right here," he says, desperate to save his cover.

She blinks. "You just look like him. But you aren't him."

Sighing, Tony watches her fall apart in front of his eyes again. He heads back to the fridge to grab the chocolate milk and fills a glass out of the drying rack. He puts it on the table. Tightening his grasp on Phoebe, he sinks back in the chair. Looking like she's face to face with a ghost, Riley picks up her milk with shaking hands. She gulps it down, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Feel better?" When she nods, he continues: "Can you accept your dad just had a rough day?"

She shakes her head. "My dad doesn't have bad days. He's Superman. My mom said so. He locks up dirtbags and keeps me and Phoebe safe. "

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "So you'd rather think that your dad got exchanged with someone else by some sort of cosmic musical chairs? Like in _Invasion of the Body Snatchers?_ "

She wrings her hands, considering. "My mom always says wishes come true, but to be careful. Because…because sometimes there's a mix-up. Look at what happened when I wished for a puppy, I got with Phoebe instead."

Barely able to suppress a laugh, he holds the baby tighter. "You know what, kiddo, let's get you to bed. I think you'll feel better in the morning."

Her face turns stricken again. "My dad calls me Rookie."

Standing up, Tony jerks his head towards the bedrooms. "Alright then, Rookie, time for sleep."

With her head hanging, she climbs to her feet. Her gait is slow like she'll be the first in line at the gallows. When they arrive in her room, Tony stares in awe of the space. Barbies, toy guns, and plastic horses blanket the floor and he isn't sure what lies beneath all of it. Amidst the stereotypical girly artwork – ballerinas, unicorns and smiling clowns – hangs a picture of a squad car painted by a child's unsteady hand alongside the photos of him and Zoe in their official police uniforms. Fresh-faced and straight out of the academy with excitement and fire in his eyes.

Riley suddenly clears his throat.

When he glances over, she's already in bed, staring at him expectantly. Unsure what to do, he heads over to pull the covers over her shoulders. He ruffles her hair and the tears start up again.

Pressing his lips together, he lets his eyes wander to the nightstand. Pictures of Zoe, Riley, Phoebe, and him in pink, sparkly heart frames stand at attention. He recognizes some of the backdrops: the National Mall, Cinderella's castle in Disney World, their black leather couch. But in every picture, his image grins back like he's the happiest man alive. It's like staring at a stranger.

His heart aches. He turns away, ready to get Phoebe to bed and to sleep on the couch.

"Could you stay here?" Riley calls quietly. "With me? My dad usually waits until I fall asleep."

Swiveling back, he offers her a sad smile. But when she points to the rocking chair in the corner, he glances down at Phoebe. Still snuggled up against his chest, she sleeps deeply. He hates to admit he's terrified she might wake up when he tries to put her back in the crib.

"Okay, but just for a little bit." He takes a seat in the rocking chair, puts his feet up on the matching ottoman.

"I'll help you figure out what to do," she whispers, her voice sleep-filled. "Just don't tell my mom that I got rid of my dad, promise?"

"I won't."

Her lips pull into a conspiratorial smile. Then her eyes close and within a few minutes, her breathing evens out. He pulls Phoebe closer to his chest, runs his finger along her hand. She latches onto his index finger with a death grip. He grins.

_Are these really my children?_

Tony leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, realizing that it doesn't really matter whether they are or not. He soaks up the warmth radiating from Phoebe's tiny body, listens to Riley toss and turn in her bed. He wants this moment to last forever, stretch into a lifetime where he can appreciate them without trying to understand this mixed-up world.

He drifts off with Phoebe in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thursday, August 5, 2015 - 8:10am - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony stands in his alter ego's closet with his hands on his hips, desperately trying to figure out what the hell this guy knows about fashion. Based on the overwhelming collection of Izod polos and Gap jeans and Dockers, obviously nothing. Even the suit selection is abysmal: Brooks Brothers, Joseph A. Bank, and a bunch of others Tony thankfully doesn't recognize.

_How am I supposed to go undercover when I can't even look good?_

In the back of the closet, he unearths a vintage, grey Armani suit. It's the one his father bought him for graduating from the police academy, the one that's awoke a life-long love affair with fashion and designer labels.

Tony runs his fingers along the fine stitching, sighs at the little piece of home. When he slithers it on, the pants hug a little too tightly in all the wrong places and he can't really move his arms. He doesn't even try to button the jacket. Breathing is far overrated anyway. 

After he puts a navy tie, he checks his reflection in the mirror. Tony runs his hands through his hair, practices a no-nonsense grin. Good enough.

He pulls the badge out of his nightstand, opens the gun case behind it to retrieve his service weapon. Glock 17, 9mm. Not quite the Sig Sauer that's has his back for years, but it will have to do. He stands back in front of the mirror, facing the man he left back in Baltimore.

He's just a cop again.

Outside, a car horn blares. Tony grimaces at his reflection.

"Wake up the whole damn family, why don't you, McGee," he growls.

When he darts through the kitchen, Tony discovers they're already awake. In her highchair, Phoebe slaps at some lime green goo. More of it is plastered along her cheeks and the floor than probably made it to her stomach. Sitting at the kitchen table, Riley engages two dolls in an active discussion while her cereal turns to mush. Zoe tidies up the counter. As soon as she sees him, she holds out a brown bag.

_Since when does Zoe pack me lunch?_

Tony squeezes it to make sure it isn't sabotaged after yesterday's disappearing act. It's hard and cold underneath his fingers, something out of the Tupperware evidence locker.

"Have a good day at work, sweetie," Zoe says, pecking his cheek.

He blinks himself out his stupor. "You too. Have fun with the kids."

On his way out, he catches Riley studying at him like something may have changed since last night. Eventually, she sighs. She motions with her doll as though he's supposed to do something else.

He ruffles her hair. "Be good for your mom, Rookie and…" He glances at Phoebe in time for her to hurl a fistful of whatever the hell is supposed to be food at them. She misses by a mile."...Probie."

Riley smiles up at him. "You too, Dad."

At that moment, Tim blares the horn again.

Tony gives her head one last rub before he ducks out of the kitchen and heads uneventfully through the girl child minefield. Outside, the day is just beginning, but the temperature already races towards a record breaker. The air is suffocating, oppressive, and moist with the promise of rain despite the cloudless sky. Tony instantly wishes he hadn't left his sunglasses in the van.

He picks up the Audi at the curb, folds himself into the passenger seat. The air conditioning already runs on full blast and it fogs up the windows.

"It's about time you got out here," Tim says. "I was getting worried that Riley might've superglued the doors shut again."

Laughing, Tony shrugs. "Not this time. It took me a while to figure out what to wear."

Tim looks over his sunglasses. "New suit?"

"To me," Tony says, shifting so his pants to they don't off circulation to his legs.

Tim nods approvingly. "Did you eat breakfast yet?"

"Not yet."

"Well, uh…Delilah…" he clears his throat, looks away "…um, she made us breakfast again."

Tony cracks a broad grin. "That was nice of her."

"Um, yeah. Nice of her." Tim's eyebrows jump as he puts the car in drive. "It's in the backseat, if you want it…"

Reaching around the seat, Tony pulls out a soft-shell cooler bag. When he opens it, a stench that could make an onion's eyes water attack him. Somehow, it's even worse than what he found in Phoebe's diaper last night. Gagging and coughing, he zips it closed.

Tim opens the windows and Tony sticks his head out.

"What the hell…" Tony pants "…is that?"

Tim laughs. "Egg whites and soy cheese on a multi-grain onion bagel with roasted sprouts. I think she threw some of her famous homemade kale chips in there too."

Tony's eyes widen. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Nothing. Delilah likes to cook when she can't sleep. If she has enough time, she makes me lunch too." He shudders and Tony notices a second cooler bag lurking innocently on the backseat.

"If that's what she made for breakfast, I already ate."

Tim half-nods. "Want to stop for doughnuts?"

Before Tony has a chance to reply, his stomach growls loud enough to fill the car.

"I'll take that as a yes," Tim says.

Once the smell of their breakfast is exorcised, Tim closes the windows and lets the air conditioning return the car to a more comfortable temperature. Tony stares blankly out the window. The streets are ones he doesn't recognize, but the buildings grow closer as they head deeper into the city.

After a while, Tim eases the car into a parking lot outside of a doughnut shop.

When Tony trails Tim, he brings the cooler with their breakfast. It's as good a place as any to get rid of the evidence. Stepping inside the shop is like going back in time. Peeling menus advertise different types of breakfasts while the coffee machines are mid-century space age. Neon lights flash everywhere and Tony begins to think he might have a stroke from them. Even the old woman behind the counter looks like she should be from the last century with her beehive hair-do and chunky plastic jewelry.

"Detective DiNozzo! Mr. McGee!" The old lady beams at them like a ray of caffeinated, fucking sunshine. "Back so soon? Did Mrs. McGee try breakfast again?"

"Oh yeah," Tim says, chuckling. "You know how that goes."

"So I take it that's a two 'nut morning, huh?" When Tim nods, she says: "What can I get you?"

"The usual."

While they talk, Tony spends his time casing the restaurant for a place to ditch the cooler bag. When she ambles out from behind the counter to find him, he freezes like a deer in the headlights.

"What can I get you, Detective?" she asks.

He grins awkwardly. "A large coffee and surprise me."

She lumbers away. Tony stashes the cooler bag behind a booth. He collects his food, pays, and joins his friend outside. Tim is already hard at work ripping the sprinkles off his breakfast. Tony checks his bag to find some strange artisanal doughnuts: coconut jelly and peanut butter something. At least the old lady gets his coffee right: three sugars, three splendas, and enough cream to induce a heart attack.

Tony eats in the car with the air conditioner running while Tim crushes the rainbow sprinkles like they're responsible for everything wrong in his life. He grinds his shoe against the asphalt, pounding them to dust. When Tim finally slides back into the driver's seat, he lets out a relieved sigh.

Tony cocks an eyebrow. "Feel better?"

Tim just nods as he scarfs his food.

Moments later, they're back on the road to the precinct. It turns out to be in the heart of Judiciary Square, right around the corner from their favorite bar. Grey and formidable, the building reaches towards the clear blue sky as though it could wreck a beautiful day on its own. The chill running down Tony's spine makes him shiver and he tells himself it's just the air conditioner. While they make their way to the elevator from the parking garage, Tony can't help but laugh.

_I'm a fucking Mall Cop. Okay, so it's the National Mall. But still._

Following Tim's lead, Tony pretends like he knows what the hell he's doing. It's undercover 101, follow your subjects and only act on your own if absolutely necessary.

They take the elevator to the eighth floor. The first thing Tony finds is a slate grey wall with wanted posters plastered from floor to ceiling. When Tim heads left, Tony sticks to him like a shadow.

"Where are you going?" Tim asks.

Tony barks a laugh. "Uh, work?"

"If you've got something for me, I'll take it and get started on it as soon as I get settled. We've been a little slow in forensics, so we're all itching for a new case."

Tony reels. "Wait, you work in forensics?"

Tim's face pinches. "No, actually, I don't. I _run_ the computer forensics department. Or did you forget?" He runs his tongue along his teeth, shakes his head. "You have no problem reminding me how you made head detective last year. All the freaking time."

"No, I…uh, it's just – "

"Whatever, Tony," Tim interrupts, anger deepening on his face. "I'll meet you back here at six, okay? Just go to the squad room and do your thing. If you need something, you know where to find me."

When Tim stalks off, Tony wishes he could tell him that he has no idea where they hell to find him. Frowning, Tony glances around the bleak hallway. Signs point to forensics to the left and G-d knows what to the right. Not knowing what else to do, Tony heads towards the right.

The labyrinth takes him snaking through the bowels of the building until it spits him out in a huge, open air room. Desks are lined edge to edge from one side of the room to the other. Half of them are occupied with uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives milling around, drinking coffee, shooting the shit. Only a handful are actually hard at work.

Tony takes a calming breath. In through the mouth, out through the nose. It smells the paperwork, stale coffee, and worst of all, desperation. Too many uniforms itching for promotions to climb the ranks where hiring freezes run rampant. And that's not even taking into account what's wafting off the drawn and anxious faces of the handcuffed criminals being lead through the office.

Weaving his way through the desks, he doesn't miss the head nods, the renewed effort with which officers tackle their paperwork, the way everyone stands up just a bit straighter. He feigns the daily routine of greeting everyone without saying their names.

Tony's eyes dart across the name badges on the desks until he finds one in the corner with a cubicle half-wall built around it. The tiny gold plaque reads: Detective A. DiNozzo. So he has a makeshift office in the sea of budget cuts.

_Ah, my home away from homes._

He sinks into the chair, stares blankly at the pile of reports and files stacked haphazardly on his desk. Even here, he can't escape the bureaucracy and the fucking paperwork. He moves a couple of loose pages to the heap and it wobbles as though one more might send it cascading to the floor. He sighs.

Later, he'll deal with all of that shit later. But now, he needs to find out what's inside the desk.

Just as he opens the first drawer, a tall, leggy blonde appears at the edge of his cubicle. She slumps against it, arms crossed. Instead of the derision he's used to, she sports a broad smile.

Andrea Sparr.

_The Metro detective we scooped cases from all the time._

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"It's too early for that shit, Big D." Her laugh is easy, unforced. "We got a couples of bodies in a subway tunnel. The brass wants us to check it out before you know who shows up."

He nods. "Yeah, just give me a few - "

"We've got to go now," Sparr says, heading out. "I'll meet you in the garage. If you're not there by the time I get the AC going, you'll have to find your own ride."

Unable to help himself, he checks out her ass. Ah, perfection.

"Who are we trying to beat?" he calls.

She doesn't look back. "That bastard from NCIS."


	8. Chapter 8

**10:01am – Judiciary Square Station – 450 F Street NW, Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

"It looks like they've been down here for a while, huh?" Sparr whispers.

Her flashlight bobs in the darkness, making it impossible for Tony to discern anything other than the corpses' possible genders and their clothing. Two men—he thinks—lie on the tracks, left to rot like garbage. One wears a set of standard issue Navy dress white and one is clad in black.

Somewhere nearby, the rumble of a passing train shakes the ground beneath him. His muscles tense, ready to run like hell from a coming train. But it roars past on the other side of the wall, shaking bits of dust loose from the bricks.

He holds his breath.

If Tony had known they would be jaunting through a fucking subway tunnel, he would have brought his own flashlight. Hell, he would've brought his own Hazmat suit because the latex gloves won't protect him from the slime under his shoes and the rot hanging in the air.

_That smell better be from these guys. Who has time to clear a dumping ground?_

"Hey Big D, you got any ideas yet?" She flicks the light into his eyes. When he scowls at her, she highlights the corpses again. "At least I got your attention, how was outer space?"

"Anywhere is better than here. But since I have to guess, I'd say probably a few weeks. Three, maybe four at the most?" He offers her a shrug to confirm his uncertainty, but it's lost in the darkness.

When the uniforms finish assembling the floodlights, he and Sparr will be able to actually see. And seeing, well, that makes solving crime a hell of a lot easier. Right now, Tony only has his sense of smell to guide him and the acrid stench of the death is almost as bad as whatever Delilah tried to feed him and Tim this morning.

Sparr rakes her light over the bodies again.

The brass buttons of the dress whites flash and glitter, mesmerize Tony until he believes he might actually be home. Barely able to contain himself, he swallows hard. He half-expects Gibbs to pop out from around the tunnel corner, barking orders at him and yelling at the uniforms to get up those damned flood lights.

If he isn't here yet, the dress whites will act like a Bat Signal to draw Gibbs closer. Even though they're buried deep under ground and about a mile from the nearest subway station, Gibbs will sniff out the case.

Tony wrings his hands, reminds himself that isn't important right now. It isn't who he is right now.

_Keep your head in the game, DiNozzo. Work the case.  
_

"How'd we find them anyway?" he asks, glancing around. "With where they are, no ever should have."

Sparr rustles nearby. "Maintenance guy decided to find a new exercise route."

Tony smirks. "That would turn me into a couch potato."

"How is that different from normal?"

Before he has a chance to reply, the world comes to light as though G-d just snapped his fingers. Tony blinks to clear the white spots from his retina and slowly, the world blurs back into focus.

Sparr hazards a smile. "And on the first day…"

Even though Ton laughs, the groan of the uniforms carries echoes through the cavernous tunnel.

"Don't make me come over there and kick your ass!" she yells.

The group of grown men suddenly find the ground intensely interesting.

Grinning, Tony kneels beside the corpses again. Somehow, the scene is worse now than when it was in shadows. Two male bodies lie shoulder to shoulder with matching bullet wounds in the center of their foreheads. The skin on their faces hangs wrinkled and distorted like macabre masks. It's almost as bad as that one time the team investigated a corpse in a Civil War Era coffin. Almost. 

Tony groans inwardly. Getting a positive identification is going to take a hell of a lot more than a simple fingerprint scan and facial recognition.

On reflex, Tony shifts over to the one in dress whites while Sparr hovers over the black-clad corpse. Several rookies stand by the floodlights, painfully uncertain about their place in a homicide investigation. _Stay away from the crazy bitch,_ they seem to be telling each other via male telepathy. By accident, Tony picks it up too.

One intrepid officer approaches Sparr with a camera. Under her careful and pointed direction, he takes photos of the scene. Flash after flash blazes the space like a fun house of horrors.

Shaking away the chill in his bones, Tony reaches into the Navy body's pocket to pull out a wallet. Inside, he finds a driver's license for a Jackson Mulroney of Kingman Park.

_That guy and his freaking dog got me stuck here. What the fuck?_

"You've got to be shitting me," he says.

Sparr perks up. "You got an ID on the vic?"

"Yeah." He relays the information. "How about yours?"

She shakes her head. "No personal affects. Looks like John Doe might be in his late twenties."

Tony makes a face. "Shit, that means – "

"It's our case." The familiar voice rings like thunder.

_Boss._

With his heart in his throat, Tony swivels back towards the floodlights. Standing next to a group of shoe-studying officers, Jethro Gibbs lasers his trademark stare on the detectives.

He crosses over the muck and gunk and other shit on the rails as he heads towards the bodies. The ghosts of two agents long past linger by Gibbs' side, earthbound and far too real for his lining.

Tony's breath catches in his throat as Paula Cassidy sidles up next to him with crime scene bag and camera in hand. Her hair still smells like sugar cookies. Kate Todd puts her hands on her hips, stares at Gibbs. Neither of them acknowledge the detectives' existence.

"Where should we start?" Kate asks, commanding and bitchy. Like her shit doesn't stink.

_Some things never change._

"Todd, photos. Cassidy, bag and tag."

After two quick nods, the female agents sweep to investigate the crime scene that Tony and Sparr already cleared. Behind him, Tony half-listens to Sparr ripping the uniforms a new one for contacting NCIS about a case before the detectives even arrived. The officers are smart enough to just roll over and play dead. Because Tony truly doubts she'd believe that Gibbs just has some sort of sixth sense about every dead, missing, or wrongdoing petty officer within twenty miles of the Yard.

Crouching next to Mulroney, Gibbs studies the corpse's face with grim eyes. Tony never noticed the intensity with which Gibbs worked until this very moment. Often, too often, he was busy jumping at commands, preventing interagency wars with Metro, or getting head-slapped stupid.

But now, Tony has the chance to watch the master at work.

"What are you thinking, bo…" Tony clears his throat "…Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs glances up, eyes wide as though he didn't expect to find Tony still there. "This isn't your case anymore, detective."

The word _detective_ rolls off Gibbs' tongue gruffer than Tony's used it, almost like an insult. Lurking over the corpse, Kate tries her best not to laugh.

Anger rips through Tony like wildfire. He sets his jaw, hold Gibbs' gaze.

"I hate to tell you, _sir_." When Gibbs' nostrils flare, Tony stands his ground. "Metro still has jurisdiction in civilian matters. And as far as we know, our John Doe is a civilian."

Kate lets the camera hang loose around her neck. "Until we get a hit on his prints in AFIS."

Their eyes meet and in an instant, Tony is back in an all too familiar pissing match. It's like a late night in the bullpen all over again, fighting over where to order dinner or which lead to present first.

After a few seconds, Gibbs glares at her.

Instantly, Kate's back straightens and she picks up the camera. The whirring recharge of the flash combined with its lightening-like explosions in the darkness nibble at Tony's brashness, makes him doubt how he just declared interagency war on Gibbs. Several pairs of eyes bore into Tony's back as his audience waits with baited breath to find out whether they'll have another body to clean up or a joint task force.

Turning back to the body, Gibbs shrugs. "If you detectives want to waste your time."

When Tony shoots Sparr a thumbs up, she gives him an appreciative grin. From the look on her face, Tony thinks this might be the first time they managed to—almost—keep a case from NCIS.

Sitting back on his haunches, Tony watches the team – his former team – sweep through the space.

Paula wades through the muck and the mire for anything relevant and irrelevant. Based on her growing pile of bagged shell casings and cigarette butts and candy wrappers, Tony suspects she might be part bloodhound. Nearby, Kate focuses the camera on Mulroney's hand with the attentiveness that Tony always admired. Without being instructed, she moves to photograph the John Doe – just in case.

Tony doesn't stop her.

The women's theories fly like machine gun fire. Drug deal gone wrong. But why two bodies, instead of one? Two lovers caught by a jealous spouse. But why wear dress whites to a secret meeting? A hate crime. But why leave the bodies hidden if someone's trying to make a statement?

But why…but why…but why…

Tony holds his breath, shocked at how…petty they sound to each other. Paula and Kate trying to one-up each other with possibility after possibility, vying for their boss' attention, for that pat on the head and, 'good job, girl.' Gibbs just ignores them, stares at the body as though if he looks as it long enough the corpse will sit up and finger the bastard who put a bullet in him.

Closing his eyes, Tony does the only thing that comes naturally here. He helps Gibbs clear the scene.

And he entirely forgets about Sparr.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:52pm – Above Ground – 450 F Street NW, Washington, DC – Judiciary Square –**

Sweat cascades down Tony's back in rivers by the time he and Sparr reach the cruiser. Even though the sun dips below the National Building Museum, the concrete just radiates its absorbed heat at them. When in the hell has it ever been hotter in the shade than standing in the sun?

Oh yeah. In this backwards, crazy-ass, fucked up world, it makes perfect sense.

He plucks off his Aviators, sweeps the perspiration from his brow.

_Hey, at least, canvasing for witnesses is still the same._

No matter where in the universe he might be, wandering around a neighborhood for hours to turn up exactly nothing still blows. But it isn't like he and Sparr had much else to go on.

John Doe, Caucasian male, age 25-35. Popped in the back of the head alongside Jackson Mulroney, a deviant petty officer with a mean-tempered Dachshund. Left to rot in a subway tunnel for six weeks, give or take two…maybe three.

Why did he think they would find anything by talking to the homeless population and the business owners? If there had been any witness, they were long-gone by now.

Sighing, he glances at Sparr.

For someone who grew up near the Canadian border, she is surprisingly unaffected by the heat. If it weren't for her ruddy cheeks, he wouldn't even know she were hot. He, on the other hand, probably lost a few pounds of water weight. He checks the waistband of his pants just in case. Still tight. Damn.

When he tries to climb into the car, he finds the passenger door locked. Sparr's eyes narrow at him over the roof of the car. He sighs again, debating about another solo canvas. But they already covered every store on both sides of the street for three miles.

He gives up. "If you've got something on your mind, just say it already."

"You know," Sparr says, "we could've skipped the dog and pony show." The _if you hadn't surrendered our evidence to that Navy bastard_ goes implied, but unspoken.

"Look, Andrea – " when she cocks an eyebrow, he switches gears "—Sparr, you and I both know how the game is played. Give him an inch and let him think he got a mile."

She pushes her tongue between her teeth, laughs. "You gave him more than a fucking mile, DiNozzo. You gave him everything. How are we supposed to work this case with nothing?"

_Because their dead guy ran me over with fucking car yesterday. So I think we have an advantage…_

He half-smiles. "We got to keep one of the corpses."

"Yeah, the one with no ID. Remember?"

He looks at her over his sunglasses. "What happened to liking a challenge, Sparr? There's nothing quite like trying to close a case with a slug and a corpse."

"That'll get it classified as cold by the weekend." Putting her hands on her hips, she stares at something in the distance. "A challenge is one thing, but this is impossible. Our guy deserves justice just as much as that dead Navy guy does. Solving his murder shouldn't be Gibbs' consolation prize."

"And it won't be." Tony chews his lower lip. "I have a plan, Sparr."

She meets his gaze. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Not at the moment."

Laughing, she rolls her eyes, but doesn't call his bluff. And for that, he'll be eternally grateful. Once he figures something out, it'll be fan-fucking-tastic and he knows it. Then he'll solve both cases. Just as soon as he figures out how to beat Gibbs at his own game.

Tony's stomach roils and he clears his throat.

"Let's get back to the station," he says. "We've got a lot of paperwork to do."

Silently, she unlocks the car and they both slide inside. While she guns the engine, he cranks up the air conditioner. Even though it isn't very cold, it feels like a polar vortex compared to outside.

He breathes a sigh of relief as the squad car slithers into rush hour traffic. Pedestrians dart along the sidewalk, breaking land speed records compared to the vehicles.

Sparr races the car in the lane next to them and they're neck-in-neck. There should be a photo finish at the red light, but the other car just run it. Sparr glances to Tony for approval to pull them over, but he just shakes his head. A moving violation isn't worth getting home late for dinner. Plus, it really isn't in a detective's pay grade anyway. Let the uniforms worry about the bullshit.

That sours her mood even further. Sparr fumes in the driver's seat, even though she tenuously accepted his promise to pull some great plan out of his ass. Tony inhales deeply, desperately hoping it won't destroy the happy place he found by the momentary normalcy here.

Okay, so maybe she has a right to be pissed. He probably shouldn't have sacrificed their evidence to Gibbs, but Tony trusts Abby infinitely more than the technicians—Tim, aside—at Metro. Over his years at NCIS, he lost count of the how many unusable samples and incorrect blood splatter analyses they sent him…plus, they didn't seem to respect the chain of evidence. For now, he figures he'll let Abby work her magic. But he just need to come up with a way to get his hands on her reports later.

By the time Tony works out the faults of Plan K—because Abby wouldn't take a CafPow from strangers—Sparr pulls their squad car into the assigned space in the garage. She glances over to ask what they're going to do about their evidence, but he doesn't think she wants to hear about how he'll train monkeys to go through the air vents. He saw it in a movie once, so it has to be possible.

Or he could always use magic.

He closes his eyes, wondering why he didn't think about magic before. Well, not quite magic, more like techno-wizardry. If Tim's the head of Metro's computer forensics in this world, he must still be like Harry Potter with a mouse. 

When he starts to speak, Sparr holds a hand up. "Whatever you're thinking, don't. That buddy of yours in IT nearly got arrested the last time you had him hack into NCIS. And come to think of it, you did too."

_Great. Now, I need to plan a jailbreak for some monkeys instead._


	9. Chapter 9

**5:48pm – Metro Police Station – Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

When Sparr and Tony step off the elevator, Tim is already standing there, laptop bag slung over his shoulder and empty lunch bag in hand. He glances up from playing on his phone.

"Hey," he says. "It looks like you guys had a long day on the beat, huh?"

Even here, Tim is still that nerdy guy who doesn't know how to handle himself around the cool kids. Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him that they haven't worked a beat since they were rookies.

Sparr's face softens. "Just working a particularly hard case, McGee."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I got one from Dvorak yesterday with a level of encryption that I've never seen before in a civilian case. We didn't have the key, so I had to try to write my – " When Tony clears his throat, Tim flinches into an apologetic smile. "I welcomed the challenge."

Sparr shoots Tony a death glare. "Challenges are one thing, but our case is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible." Oblivious to the twitch in her eyelid, Tim presses onward with unflappable optimism. "Sometimes, you just have to create your own back door access."

Cringing visibly, Tony stares at the group of uniforms heading down the hallway. Certain that he and Sparr have a long night ahead of them, he presses his lips together.

"You know, Tim, I don't think I'll need that ride home. Sparr and I – "

"Are done for the day," she interrupts. When he looks over quizzically, she continues: "I'll get the paperwork finished so you can get home to the girls. It's not like our guy's going anywhere. We'll just pick up in the morning after Hibbard gets done with the autopsy."

"Thanks," Tony says, simply.

Even though it's so he can't screw up their case anymore, he appreciates her taking the lead. The smile in her eyes as she heads to the squad room tells him that she'll take her pound of flesh much later. Maybe he'll be able to train those monkeys to write reports after they learn how to break in NCIS.

"Lucky break," Tim says as they head into the elevator.

"Yeah, something like that."

But sticking his partner with a mound of paperwork doesn't feel particularly lucky at all, especially after he squandered the little bit of evidence they had in their case. Before Tim has a chance to hit the ground floor button, Tony smashes the one that'll take them straight to autopsy.

"Are we taking a detour?" Tim asks.

Tony smiles. "I'm creating my own back door access."

They ride in silence and when the doors glide open, Tony leads the way. The bowels of the police station reeks of rust, rot, and death. Tim gags into the back of his hand, probably desperate to keep down whatever kale-encrusted, tofu feast Delilah packed for him. Tony follows the stench all the way down the hallway to the thick metal doors labeled _Autopsy._

Shoving them open, he heads inside with Tim glued to his side. His friend grips his lunch bag as though he might catch something just by touching anything in the room. He keeps his eyes fixed on the body lockers on the wall. Anything to avoid glancing at the bodies on the gurneys that are covered with white sheets like kids dressed up as ghosts for Halloween. Something that might be recognition washes over Tim's face before he swallows hard and chases it away.

Sweat pricks to his forehead and for a moment, guilt flirts with Tony for bringing his friend to this awful place. But Tim could've gotten the car started, could've stayed in the elevator. Hell, he could even have stood in the hallway. He still chose to follow Tony here.

On the last gurney in the row, a tall, skeletal man dressed in scrubs works on a body. Based on his surgical precision and quiet tones, Tony figures he must be John Hibbard, the Metro ME. An impish, Asian girl lingers by side, taking careful notes. Her ill-fitting scrubs can't hide her model's physique.

Mesmerized by the assistant's ass, Tony heads over to the gurney with Tim hovering closely. Both of them pause by the edge of the gurney and Tim makes the mistake of looking down at the burned out husk of what might've been a woman. His face goes stark-white as he dry-heaves.

"If you're going to faint," the assistant says, "don't expect me to catch you."

Tony grins. Total bitch with a killer body; they always were his type. Hibbard nods, his eyes crinkling behind his safety shield.

"She's right, son." His voice comes like a song. "You don't want to be touching this floor."

Tim takes a full step back. "Thanks for the advice, Doc."

"You're welcome, son. Are you new to the force?"

Tim shakes his head. "Computer forensics."

"Ah. Nice to meet one of our compatriots in the forensics departments." Without thinking, Hibbard extends a soot-covered hand and Tim's cheeks blanch. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just going to – " he pulls out his silent cell phone, gestures to the spot away from the bodies " – take this. Over there."

The assistant makes a face as Hibbard slides an organ into the scale with a soft _squish._ For a half-second, Tony watches the pair work. They are nothing like Ducky and Jimmy, who work while competing with each other to find out who has the most boring and irrelevant story. These two work in complete and well-practiced silence. When Tony surveys the number of bodies, he understands. Their case count is easily triple what Ducky and Jimmy take on.

Eventually, Hibbard clears his throat. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

Tony blinks. "Huh?"

Behind her mask, the assistant mutters something particularly nasty to herself.

"What brings you all the way down here?" Hibbard tries again. "I doubt you wanted to introduce your friend to the exciting world of autopsy."

Both of them glance to where Tim leans against the wall, doubled over and breathing hard. If Tony doesn't wrap this up quickly, he'll probably have to carry Tim home. At least, he'd have an excuse to drive the Audi and he'd get to ditch the van for a little while longer.

"I came about the John Doe. Did you get a chance for the autopsy yet?"

Hibbard's eyes squint as he checks with the assistant. Sighing like she's the only one who knows what the hell is going on, she flips through the papers on her clipboard.

"Do you mean the John Doe from the bridge or the one from the subway?" she asks.

"The subway tunnel."

Nodding, she cross-references with another page. "We're getting to him next."

Tony blinks. "But you've had the body all day."

"A John Doe with no evidence really doesn't rank too high on the priority scale. But you'll have the report first thing tomorrow morning." She shrugs. "Sorry, detective, but you aren't the only one breathing down our necks to get your work sorted."

When her glare bores into him, he understand the conversation is over. Just as he gets ready to scoop his comatose friend off the floor, inspiration hits him like a sledgehammer. Somewhere in the whirlpool of Ducky's pointless stories, Tony recalls one that might just save him right now. Hibbard plays bridge with all of the other local MEs and he has a shit poker face.

Tony turns back. "Hey, Doc, I got a question for you."

"Hm?" Hibbard says, without bothering to look up, but his pit-bull assistant does.

"Do you know the ME from NCIS?"

Hibbard nods distractedly, tosses some other internal organ into the scale. "Yes, he's on my bridge team. The Great Scot loves to hear himself talk."

Longing bubbles inside Tony's chest and right now, he would love to hear Ducky talk about anything. Even one of those stories Tony doesn't understand about when the ME was a lad, playing cricket. Hell, he'd even take the one he slept through where Ducky tried to teach the team how to play cricket. Tim learned the rules inside and out, but the team quickly all gave up playing it in the evidence garage when he and Ducky won every match.

"Could you do me a favor?" Tony asks. "I'll owe you one. Big time."

Hibbard glances up, clearly interested. "What's on your mind, Detective?"

"Our John Doe was found with a Navyman. Could you get a copy of the autopsy report from NCIS?" He shifts his weight. "Sparr doesn't think the agent in charge over there will be willing to play nice."

"Keep in mind, it'll take a lot of convincing on my part." Hibbard drops the organ in his hand back into the thorax. When it makes a loud splat, Tim groans audibly, but they all ignore him. "Mallard isn't one to give up reports without good cause. So I'll probably be stuck on his bridge team, again. Every single card reminds him of something in his life, for G-d's sake."

"That doesn't surprise me…"

Hibbard tilts his head. "Have you met Mallard before?"

When Tony glances over at Tim, his friend almost looks like might have.

"Not yet, but I've heard stories." Tony smiles tightly. "Now, about that report."

"I'll see what I can do. But keep in mind, Detective, that favor's going to need to be pretty big."

"If you can get a copy of the forensics reports too, I'll get you whatever you want."

Hibbard's steel grey eyes meet Tony's. "I'd love to land a date with your partner."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**6:18pm – Blind Justice Bar and Grille – Judiciary Square, Washington, DC –**

On the entire way to pick up the van, Tim rambles about everything but their adventure in autopsy. He regales Tony with an intense story about how he wrote a code to break a 528-bit level of encryption. Who would've thought Dvorak could've uncovered military grade computer encryption during a drug bust? Sure as hell not Tony! He doesn't even know what the hell any of it means.

Tony stops paying full attention when Tim uses the phrases Trojan horse and rootkit in the same sentence. And for the life of him, Tony can't chase the picture of potatoes wearing togas in a giant, wooden horse from his brain.

Tony nods at the right parts, tunes back in just in time to find out what happened to Tim's lunch. Apparently, the vegan, free-range homeless guy around the corner gladly took the falafel whatever off of his hands. Tomorrow, they'll get hot dogs together if Tony isn't on the beat. That's if Tony's even still alive. When Sparr finds out he pimped her out to get the reports for their case, he might just be rotting away in unmarked grave somewhere off the interstate.

Tim switches conversational gears, settles into picking Tony's brain about whether he would be up for coaching a co-ed little league team this fall. Matty and Riley love baseball, Tim swears. Tony tries to yes him to death, anything to give him a little silence so he can think.

Pressing his lips together, Tony watches the familiar world glide past effortlessly outside. The closer they get to his bar, his old apartment, his home, the more choked up he becomes. He's only been here one full day, but it feels like a lifetime. His old life is already starting to go hazy around the edges and he can't help but wonder whether any of it was real.

He can't—won't—let it go.

When Tim double-parks the Audi beside the van, Tony makes a face. Of course, no one bothered to steal the piece of shit because no one wants it either.

"Hey," Tim says, "if Matty's at your house. Would you mind sending him home?"

Tony's smile is quick. "Sure."

"You're driving carpool tomorrow. Don't forget."

After a quick nod and a wave, Tony slides out of the car back into the oppressive heat. He opens the unlocked door to his van and plops into the driver's seat. His keys are exactly where he left them, in the ignition. Once the air conditioner's running on full blast, he scrubs his hands over his face and sighs.

Panic rips through him when he realizes Tim is gone and he has no idea where the fuck he lives. Up the street, he catches the Audi hop onto a side street and Tony guns the engine in a feeble attempt to catch up. The van coughs and groans with effort.

Thankfully, he pulls up behind Tim at a red light. His friend shoots him a wave in the rear view mirror. Tony follows Tim all the way back to the tree-lined street where they're neighbors, where life is complicated and simple all at the same time. He likes the sense of peace he feels right now, that little niggling like he could belong here if he just gave it enough time. A smile graces his face at the same time his stomach drops.

_This can never be my home._


	10. Chapter 10

**6:29pm - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

The mouthwatering scent of char-grilled burgers and sautéing onions greets Tony at the front door. It invites him to take his shoes off and settle into the place that could be his home.

He walks into the living room to find Phoebe on the floor, sucking on the leg of a Barbie doll, and Riley on the couch, zoned out to that caped crusading mouse flying on the television screen. He has to figure out what the hell manages to stop an eight-year old in her tracks better than a tranquilizer dart.

A little boy is slumped next to her, sharing her blank stare. Tony doesn't need aformal introduction to know that the boy is Matty McGee. Tony recognizes that vacant look Tim usually had during too many all-nighters in the bull-pen. Tony decides that it must be genetic. With blond hair and green eyes, Matty looks every bit like a lanky-limbed and gangly-toothed version of Tim with Delilah's nose thrown in for good measure.

Domestic bliss, he thinks that's what this is supposed to be. Tony's heart catches in his throat.

_Could this make me happy?_

"Hey everyone, I'm home," Tony announces, feeling a bit like Dick Van Dyke on a family sitcom.

Zoe yells something incoherent from the kitchen that might be about burgers…or burglars. He doesn't know nor think it's particularly important. Riley gives him a half-hearted wave while Matty doesn't even move.

Phoebe grins toothlessly up at him, offers him the drool covered doll.

Smiling, he shakes his head. "No thanks, Probie. I think I'm good."

As though to say _your loss,_ she tries to see whether she can get the whole leg in her mouth while the slobber pools on her shirt. Tony wonders whether that's normal for babies. But since Riley isn't protesting about her doll being used as a chew toy, it probably is.

"Matty," Tony says, heading for the kitchen, "your dad wants you home for dinner."

Matty snaps right out of his cartoon-induced coma. His face immediately goes stricken. "Can I stay for dinner, Mr. D? My mom's making tofu meatloaf again." Just as Tony stars to say no, Matty drags a pitiful: "Please," that goes on for a minute.

Riley perks up. "Can Matty stay? Mrs. McGee's meatloaf is gross. It doesn't have any meat in it."

Tony's eyebrows jump. "Then it really isn't meatloaf, is it?"

Both of them stare at him with wide eyes as though he just blew their tiny minds. Eventually, he sighs like no one understands him. It figures that they're probably too young to appreciate the finer qualities of meatloaf or his jokes. Something on the television screen behind him explodes.

"Can Matty stay, please? Dad." She draws the word a little forced, a little panicked.

Tony nods awkwardly. "Yeah, sure."

Riley and Matty share a whoop and a high-five. Phoebe waves her arms, squealing loudly before she topples onto the floor. The Barbie goes flying, but she finds a doll nearly as big as she is within arm's reach. Lying on her back, she tries to see whether she can gnaw that one's head off instead.

Chuckling to himself, Tony heads into the kitchen.

With her back to him, Zoe works all six burners on their chef's stove like the domestic goddess she never was back home. She chucks what looks like green peppers into a sauté pan and the steam billows upward, filling the room with a divine aroma. His mouth waters and his stomach growls.

"Hey Zoe." He keeps his tone light because he doesn't know what to call her, doesn't know any of their cutesy nicknames. Maybe he doesn't even know her at all.

"Hey sweetheart," she calls, more inviting than last night.

Tony sneaks over, wraps his arms around her waist. She melts back into him and he closes his eyes, inhales her scent. For a half-second, it's just the two of them against the world. As quickly as the feeling of nostalgia washes over him, the scent of something burning chases it away.

"Oh shit," Zoe sighs. "I wrecked the vegetables."

Tony grins at her. "I'm sure they'll still taste great."

Scowling at the stove, she yanks the satuee pan off the stove. She moves with a practiced efficiency as she begins shifting different pieces of dinner onto the waiting plates. He stays out of her way, leans against the counter to watch her work.

The pots and pans clang against the counter and a familiar pound starts in his head. He massages his right temple, presses his lips together. Right now, he would kill for a Scotch to ward off the headache that's starting behind his eyes. But he suspects the burgers that Zoe is about to serve will have to suffice.

He is just about to tell her that Matty's staying for dinner when he notices the four place settings at the table along with the high chair. She strains enough potatoes for an army into a huge bowl, then attacks them with a masher.

"How was work, honey?" she asks.

He half-smiles. "Caught a homicide this morning."

She glances back, clearly interested. "Is it a slam dunk?"

Suddenly, an overwhelming desire to shield her from the ugly world outside wells up within Tony. He knows it's stupid, pathetic even. Zoe was his partner when they worked worse cases in Philly and she would be the one to shoot first, ask questions later. But something about what he has here is so wonderful, so untouched by reality, that he can't bear to let it be spoiled by what he does for a living.

He touches her shoulder, says simply: "No."

Nodding as though she understands, she quickly moves on. "So what are the McGees having for dinner tonight?"

Tony makes a face. "Meatless-loaf."

She stops mashing to giggle heartily.

_Thank G-d, she still thinks I'm funny._

"Oh boy," she says, "that's Matty's favorite."

"Then why is he…" Tony blinks slowly. "Oh, that was a joke."

"Yeah, he hates vegetables and tofu and all the stuff that Delilah's been into lately. I'm not sure how Tim puts up with it every day."

Tony decides not to rat out his friend's doughnut detours and donating his lunch to the homeless hippie around the corner from the station.

Instead, he shrugs. "Maybe he likes it?"

Over her shoulder, Zoe shoots him a look that calls him a liar. Thankfully, she doesn't press because he doesn't know how long he could hold out against her interrogation techniques. He thinks about pulling her to the floor right here to do something he's been fantasizing about since he got here. He takes a step closer, nuzzles the back of her neck as she continues to mash the potatoes. Her body stills and she leans back into him.

Her breath catches. "Tony..."

"Ew, Dad, that's gross!" Riley yells.

Tony leaps back from Zoe like he's been electrocuted. He holds his hands up as though it could prove that he wasn't just about to defile the little girl's mother. When Riley makes a face, he readies to plead his case when Zoe turns around with a huge bowel of mashed potatoes.

"Go get your friend and your sister, Rook," she says as though nothing even happened.

Riley's uncertain eyes dance between Tony and her mother. For a split-second, she almost looks like she might spill her guts to Zoe, like she might just confess that her wish sent her father wherever and caused Tony to take place.

He offers her a tiny smile. _Just our secret,_ he tries to convey, _remember?_

Eventually, she scurries back into the living room to collect Matty and Phoebe.

He clears his throat, a little hysterical. "What do you think that's all about?"

"We've got kids, Tony," Zoe says as though it explains everything. "They're great, wonderful, imaginative, perfect kids. But they're a little strange, just like us."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it."

She arches an eyebrow, shoots him a sexy smile. "Or maybe they just don't like to think about their parents making more siblings."

Tony almost loses his mind right there. But he gets it together long enough to help Zoe carry the rest of the food to the table. When Riley brings Phoebe into the kitchen, Zoe straps the baby into her high-chair with a precision that Tony doesn't think he'll ever possess. When Zoe retrieves Phoebe's bottle straight out of the fridge, she holds it out to him like it makes her point about having weird kids.

_Or maybe I'm just the weird one._

Phoebe takes the bottle and sucks it down while everyone digs into the feast. Nothing prepared him for how good of a cook Zoe turned out to be here and Tony greedily scarfs his weight in burgers, mashed potatoes, and burnt vegetables. He was right; they turned out to be fan-freaking-tastic.

Matty and Riley race each other to see who can finish their dinner first. Riley wins by a long-shot and dives back in for seconds…then thirds.

When everyone is finished, Tony just wants to curl up on the sofa and slip away into a food coma. But he helps Zoe clear the table, even dutifully dries every single dish after she washes them. Why she won't just use the dishwasher in the corner is beyond him. She always did trust her own two hands to finish a task over everyone else's, human or mechanical.

After they're done, Zoe sweeps Phoebe away for bed and bath-time. Tony gives the baby a kiss on her forehead and she matches it, right before she drools all over him. He wonders whether she will be this cute when she has a screaming fit in the middle of the night.

When he's finally on his way to the sofa to take a nap, he finds Matty and Riley kneeling on the living room floor. Their muted whispers tell him that something is up, so he drops into a crouch next to him. His knees crack and pop, making him wince.

Matty grins. "That's cool, Mr. D. How'd you learn how to do that?"

"You'll get there some day." Tony's words make the little boy press his lips together in deep thought. Before he has a chance to hurt himself, Tony changes the subject. "What are you guys up to?"

"I was just showing Matty my fireflies." Riley's smile is sad. "Me and my dad caught them over the weekend."

Tony smiles broadly at the mini-McGee. "We caught them. Isn't that right, Rookie?"

Riley nods. "Yeah."

When Riley holds up her pickle jar full of fireflies, Tony instantly pities the tiny insects. Huddled together, the bug are like drugged hostages. Two scramble up the sides, staring out as though they try to figure out an escape from their prison. There's no hope, Tony wants to tell them, but he doubts they'd even understand.

"Why don't we go let them go?" he suggests.

Riley blinks, clearly confused, but still says, "Okay."

Together, the three of them head out into the night. While the temperature is just starting to slip below melting, the air is still thick and muggy like the entire city is trapped under a blanket. Free fireflies twinkle like tiny, earthbound stars. Riley cautiously opens the lid to her pickle jar, letting her captives wander into the blackness. A few linger behind, too drunk from the fumes or victims of Stockholm Syndrome. She shakes them loose onto the patio, murmurs quietly to them until they join their friends.

Enthralled, Tony watches the insects dance in the night.

Suddenly, Matty lets out a whoop. "Did you see that?"

Blinking, Tony glances over to find Matty lying on the patio. His attention is fixed on the clear sky overhead. Tony doesn't know what he is looking at, doesn't know whether the sky looks the same back home because he never had the time to look.

A meteor slices across the sky, fading as quickly as it appears.

"Shooting stars." Riley breathes, collapsing to the ground next to Matty. "That's amazing."

"They aren't shooting stars, Ri," Matty says. "They're meteors."

Both Tony and Riley glance at him blankly and he sighs like no one will ever understand him.

"Meteorites?" Tony tries.

Matty huffs. "Only if they hit the ground. If they burn up in the atmosphere, they're just called meteors. My dad likes to call them space dirt. Did you know they travel at 10 feet per second?"

And at that moment, Tony knows Matty is Tim's kid. "I do now."

"Can I make a wish on them?" Riley asks.

"If you want to try to wish on space dirt," Matty says, a hint of a smile in his voice. "It's like wishing on mud, so it won't work. I would try a real star like the North Star over there."

Tony sinks into the ground next to Riley, props himself up on his hands. "And where's that?"

Matty points at the vast sky. "Right there in the middle of _Ursa Minor."_

Of course, Tony has no idea what the hell the kid is talking about.

"Hey Matty," Tony asks, "do you know anything about computers?"

"I know I don't like them." He sighs. "My mom and dad are sad, but they try not to show it."

Tony nods. "Ah."

Overhead, the sky swirls with the stars struggling to be seen through Washington's light pollution. It's better than in the heart of the city, but not by much. They all look the same. Tony takes his chances on a star he can see, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to wish for.

The three of them stay there for a long time, watching the flicks of meteors speed across the heavens. Tony counts them, decides he'll save up his seven wishes for some future use.

When the moon climbs higher and the fireflies grow tired, the back door light next door blazes. Tony flinches and Matty jumps to his feet. Tim's face haunts the doorway, looking angry until Matty scurries off with a promise to hang out with Riley tomorrow. Once Matty is out of his line of vision, Tim shoots Tony and Riley a smile and wave before he retreats back into the house.

"Alright, Rookie," Tony says, "I think it's well-past bedtime."

"Just five more minutes." Riley sounds strident, panicked. "I want to make another wish. One more."

He quirks an eyebrow. "You really think that'll work?"

Her head bobs like a wind-up toy. So they sit in silence while he times the five minutes that he promised. When it is over, he climbs to his feet and offers his hand to her. He pulls her up.

"So what'd you wish for, Riley?" he asks.

She glances up at him, studying him like she doesn't have the heart to tell him. After a long moment, she sighs sadly. "For my dad to come back."

He swallows hard. "He will soon, promise."

Riley grabs his hand, begging him to stay there, pleading with him to pretend to be her dad, imploring him to give her a sense of normalcy.

So Tony puts his arm around her and rubs her shoulder like he does to the victims at a crime scene.


	11. Chapter 11

**9:42pm - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Some time after Riley and Phoebe are fast asleep, Tony wanders towards his and Zoe's bedroom. He figures he'll get changed and spend the night watching television until he passes out on the couch. Even though he and Zoe are married, he can't stand the thought of sleeping next to a stranger.

But his plans go straight out the window when he finds her in their bedroom.

Laying on the bed, she wears something that might be construed as lingerie on a budget. Light pink and jersey knit is nothing like the lace and silk that he loves back home, but it hugs her curves in all the right places, shows off the nape of her neck, the hollow of her breasts.

Her dark eyes burn like the night.

"Hey Spider," she croons.

"Hey, um…er…." He stops dead, runs his hand through his hair. "Hi."

She holds a hand out, beckons him with one finger in that 'come hither' motion that always drives him wild. For a split-second, he loses all feeling in his body. Then he dives straight into this mad, mad world because he is nothing but a man after all.

Their bodies crash together, comfortable and terrifying all at the same time. Zoe hits all of the usual spots that make him gasp, pushes a few buttons that he didn't even know existed. He fumbles around her new soft body like a sex-crazed teenager desperate to please a new lover. She cries first and then, he lets himself go. They both collapse, exhausted and satisfied into each other's arms.

Long after they're done, she sleeps cuddled against his bare shoulder, Tony stares unseeing into the darkness. Tonight, he didn't have sex. For the first time in his life, he made love.

He lies still, listening to Zoe's quiet, even breathing.

The only thing on Tony's mind is whether Riley will get her wish tonight. He doesn't know what he wants anymore. To stay and try being a family man or to go back to the only life he has ever known. Either outcome will still give the same result; he will always wonder about what could have been.

Right here and right now, he can't bear the thought of losing Zoe all over again.

So Tony climbs out of bed. He wanders the house like a ghost, staring at the pictures on the walls and taking in the evidence that he might actually be happy here. He tries to settle his mind with television, but there's nothing on in the middle of the night except infomercials, church sermons, and old reruns. They aren't even good ones like Magnum or Dragnet.

He attacks the DVD shelf by the television. He needs something, anything to take his mind off the nagging wonder of if and when he'll be able to go home. He wants it to happen suddenly like a lightning bolt or getting hit by that fucking car, not slow and painful like an agonizing death from a terminal disease. To feel love, to be loved, only to have it ripped away at the best part.

Sweat pricks to his forehead. His heart races. And for a moment, he thinks this might actually be it, that his two day adventure in the alternate universe is over.

But the world isn't that kind, he just works himself up for nothing.

Sighing, he turns his attention back to the movies. They always did calm him, give him a place to focus all of his nervous energy into before he turned to the bottle. What he wouldn't give for _His Girl Friday_ or _Charade_ or anything with Cary Grant for that matter _,_ but it's all old-fashioned, animated Disney films. Apparently, he already started teaching the girls about the importance of the classics.

He uncovers a DVD labeled only with a date—June 12, 2005—and a picture of wedding bells wedged firmly between _Snow White_ and _Sleeping Beauty._

_I have a wedding video._

Hysterical laughter rises in his throat before giving way to full-blown nausea. Tony has his first true out of body experience as he moves back to the television on auto-pilot. He places the DVD into the player as though he carries the Holy Grail itself.

He glues himself to the couch, too terrified to even blink that he might miss a moment.

The television glows in the dark, making Tony feel like he's stuck in a dream. If he didn't dig his nails into his palm, he might believe that he managed to pass out with Zoe in his arms.

He watches the most important moments in his life that he doesn't remember.

He and Zoe had the wedding he always wanted: one in a big church stained glass depicting Biblical scenes that he stopped believing long ago. When Zoe recites her vows, she is so sure, so determined like she never wanted any else in her entire life. Tony sounds like a stranger, nervous and tremulous like his best man forced him into the ceremony at gunpoint. And who knows, maybe the man did? Tony doesn't recognize anyone in the wedding party.

Then there's an abrupt change in the footage when it jumps to the reception. So maybe the videographer didn't win any Oscars, but Tony is still completely enthralled. His heart clenches at the way Zoe smiles at the camera, the way he hams it up with people who might have been their friends, the loving glances he shoots his wife.

He absently spins his wedding ring.

The reception blends into shots of people dancing to the greatest hits of the Oldies, doing the _YMCA_ , and the _Electric Slide._ Friends and relatives assault the cameraman, trying to offer Tony advice on how to survive Zoe's cooking and how to live to a ripe old age by staying on her good side. The number of people on the dance floor begin to clear out and the music cuts out.

For a moment, Tony wonders why the cameraman didn't bother to turn the tape off. But when he sees a younger version of himself and Zoe pop up into the frame, the cameraman shoves it into Tony's face.

"We never thought you'd get married, DiNozzo." The voice draws his name out into a sing-song leer. "What were you thinking, buddy?"

On screen, Tony shoots a glance at Zoe. "It was under duress, I swear! She threatened to plant some evidence on me."

Zoe elbows him in the stomach and he doubles over with laughter. When he stops, their eyes meet and something flashes across his face. It's an expression that Tony never thought he was capable of: love without holding anything back.

His heart twists, his chest aches.

_I loved her and I let her go._

The screen goes dark and the night slips away like sand. But Tony can't bring himself to move.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Friday, August 7, 2015 - 6:12am - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Before Zoe and the girls wake, Tony climbs off the couch. He gets ready for work in the dark. He forces himself to fall into his undercover persona by dressing in a pair of Dockers and a kelly green Izod polo. Out of all of the clothes in the closet, these two are the most faded.

_They must be my favorite._

He heads into the kitchen, throws a random Tupperware container from the fridge into a lunch bag. He leaves Zoe a note on the counter to say that he needed to get an early start on case. He skips the part about how he can't face the daughter who knows who he really is and doesn't want the awkward morning after conversation with _his wife._

Then he shoots Tim a text to say he can't drive carpool today because he needs to get that early start.

By the front door, he pulls on his sneakers—it is Casual Friday after all. On his way out, he turns to give the house one long look over his shoulder as though it could be the last time he sees it. Just on the off chance that Riley gets her wish, he might be living his real life before his shift is over.

He wants to remember every little nuance of this adventure.

The militarized zone of the living room catches the sun's first rays peeking through the front window. Almost overnight, an army of stuffed animals and monster trucks came to wage war on the Barbies and baby dolls. Loose tires and little plastic high heels are scattered all over the place. For a fleeting second, Tony pictures the two little girls playing. He smiles as he glances towards the family pictures on the wall.

_I'd like to think I could be happy here.  
_

He scrubs the back of his neck, swallows hard. Hopefully, he won't get to stay long enough to know. Maybe, just maybe he'll wake up in his bed, left to believe this is all a strange dream. He ignores that little part of him that wants to stay here for a just a bit longer. The part of him that wants to know what it feels like to be married, have children, and be the family man that he'll never be.

With a heavy-hearted sigh, he steps onto the porch and locks the door behind him. The air is muggy, heady with the scent of morning dew and freshly cut grass. He stalks across the driveway and slides behind the wheel of the van. After starting the engine, he backs out of the driveway.

Instead of heading for the precinct, Tony traces the sleepy residential streets until they become familiar. Outside of the car, the houses travel forward in time from the cute and cozy Craftsmen to the mid-century modern dwellings on the other side of the neighborhood.

He stops in front of one that's all too familiar. The driveway is empty, the windows dark.

Why Tony always comes back to Gibbs, he'll never understand. Even in this reality—where it's so obvious that they've never even met—Tony still yearns for the approval he's used to. Being stuck here without it is like being thrown overboard without a life vest and left for dead.

Sinking deeper into his seat, he watches the house like he's on a stakeout.

But there's no movement, no noise, not even a paperboy dropping off the daily news. Minutes stretch into hours and before long, the neighborhood comes to life. People creep from their houses with their briefcases and coffee mugs and broad smiles, ready to end another week.

When a male jogger with impossibly short shorts shoots Tony a friendly wave, he puts his head down. All he needs is one person to rat him out to Gibbs and things will get even more awkward than they already are.

He puts the car in gear, points it for the precinct. Even though his body is stuck in stop and go traffic, Tony's mind travels at warp speed. It struggles to understand why his and Sparr's case would be the same as the one he had with Tim back home, whether he is supposed to know Gibbs in this reality, if that could be the key to going home. And most importantly, what kind of person he'll be by the time this is all done.

He still doesn't have any answers by the time he ends up deep underground in the precinct's parking garage. Tim's Audi is already here, tucked away in a corner far away from all of the other vehicles. He berths the van next to it, getting so close that Tim won't be able to get into his car until Tony moves. He needs to see a friendly face before the day is over and he isn't taking any chances, just in case he doesn't find Tim sneaks off before Tony's day is done.

On the long way up to his dead, Tony decides to check in with Hibbard first.

The reek of death and slow decay smack him in the face as soon as he steps off the elevator. The smell only intensifies as he grows closer to the morgue. But inside, the frigid air feels oddly refreshing, strangely comforting. The harsh overhead lights are on full blast, bathing the room in a sickly, sulfuric glow. If it weren't for the numerous bodies covered with sheets, Tony would feel very much alone.

Somewhere deep inside the space, an off key baritone sings along with Bob Marley's "Buffalo Solider."

Tony follows the singing past the corpses until he finds a tiny office. He peers through the door, surprised to find the walls plastered with pictures of far-off destinations, exotic sunrises, and African safaris. For someone so involved with death, Hibbard aspires to do a lot of living before he's done.

With his back to the door, Hibbard types at his computer like a Luddite. One finger after the other while the doctor croons about something he probably shouldn't be smoking.

Tony clears his throat. Hibbard jumps like he's been shot.

Whirling around, he scrabbles for a weapon on his desk, but only comes up with a pen. Laughing, Tony points to the Glock on his hip.

"I'd have you beat, Doc," he says.

Hibbard's cheeks blaze. "You should know better than to sneak up on someone like that, Detective."

"I didn't want to wreck the concert." When Hibbard blushes further, Tony cracks a tight grin. "Got anything for me on our John Doe?"

Hibbard wavers. "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

Picking an autopsy report from his desk, Hibbard passes it to Tony. While he flips through it, the doctor hits the high points: "Mei and I stayed late to finish the autopsy. It's pretty cut and dry, I'm afraid. Bullet to the forehead was cause of death. Close range, execution style. Been dead for about a month based on the state of decay."

Tony sighs. "You got an ID?"

"Not yet. The good news is that your vic looks like he visited the dentist enough to get a positive ID from the records, but we'd need something to compare to."

"That sounds like more bad news."

Hibbard chuckles. "Oh no. The bad news is that there are quite a few men aged 25 – 35 with black hair and blue eyes that have gone missing within the past few months. I'll send Mei upstair as soon as she gets here to help out. I think I should be okay flying solo for today."

Tony half-nods. "Anything else?"

"Your John Doe's liver and lungs were shot. The beginning stages of cirrhosis from way too much time at the bar and too many packs a day. If that bullet didn't get him, the booze and the cigarettes would've." Hibbard pauses like he expects Tony to laugh, but the detective doesn't. "Got heavy wear and callouses on his right hand along with some gunshot residue. Looks like your typical gangbanger to me."

"And that's it?"

"Oh, Detective, you should know me better than that. I always save the best for last." A conniving smile slowly spreads across Hibbard's long face. "It makes for a better show that way."

"Did you get a copy of the autopsy report from NCIS yet?"

"I'm meeting with Dr. Mallard tonight." He cocks his head. "Have you talked to Andrea yet?"

Making a face, Tony shakes his head. He doesn't want to even consider what Sparr will do to him when she finds out that he promised to send her on a date with Hibbard.

"I will as soon as I see her."

Hibbard nods his approval. "Good. Now back to business, I did find one piece of interesting evidence on your John Doe." He plucks an evidence bag up from the corner of his desk. "I discovered a jump drive in the victim's stomach. I put it aside for you because I figured you'd want to give it to your friend in forensics."

Tony takes the bag, stares at the slimy lump of plastic slide inside. "Why the hell would our vic swallow a jump drive?"

Hibbard shrugs. "That's up to you to find out, Detective. The only thing I can tell you is that I found it in the jejunum mixed in with what once was eggs and coffee. Your John Doe swallowed it about two hours before he died."

"So he knew he was going to be murdered."

"It would seem that way."

Lost in thought, Tony nods. "Thanks, Doc. Let me know when you get those reports from NCIS."

Just as he turns away, Hibbard calls after him: "Can I count on you to uphold your end of the bargain?"

Tony glances over his shoulder, shrugs. "I'll talk to Sparr and see what I can do."

"Then you can count on those reports on your desk by tomorrow morning." The grin that slithers over Hibbard's face is creepy, at best. "No matter what it takes."

After saying goodbye, Tony heads for the elevators. He really doesn't want to think about which part of his body Sparr will cut off first when she finds out about his bargain. As soon as he steps off the elevator, he heads straight into the forensic department so he can hold onto his balls just a tad longer since Sparr always was one to aim for the family jewels. He cuts through the cubicles until he finds an office door complete with a plaque that reads _T_ _imothy McGee, Head of Computer Forensics_ on it.

_It figures the Probie would get a real office. With a real door._

Tony knocks, but no one answers.

He jimmies the door, a little surprised to find it unlocked. But if anything did go missing, they were in a place where the culprit could be found and brought to justice pretty swiftly.

Tony considers poking through his friend's desk for a split-second, but he ends up mesmerized by the sheer number of computers instead. It looks like Tim cleared out a local electronics store. Several monitors stand side-by-side on a table behind the desk while numerous hard drives rest on the floor. There are wires snaked all over the floor plugged into more surge protectors than Tony has ever seen.

Heading over to the desk, Tony slips into Tim's chair. He sinks into the memory foam and makes a mental note to requisition himself one of these as soon as he can. Pulling the jump drive from his pocket, he debates about where to put it in the piles of paperwork that Tim will see it.

He places it smack-dab in between two high-end, hibernating laptops. Then he leaves Tim a quick Post-It asking him to call him with the results of what's on it. He adds a note about wearing gloves and hopes to G-d that Tim follows the advice.

Then Tony sneaks out of Tim's office. He ignores the shocked glances from the tech nerds who stare at him like they don't know what to do with the interloper in their midst.

He doesn't breathe again until he's comfortably behind his own desk.

Mercifully, Sparr isn't anywhere to be found. Tony has time for one last play before he resorts to pimping her out.

But in the interest of the case, he might as well pretend to try interagency communication…even if he is fairly certain that Gibbs still doesn't believe in interagency communication here. After being the reason for so many "misdirected files" and "lost reports" over the years, Tony knows all about the games that the team will play.

Reaching for his phone, he dials the NCIS main number, followed by his former extension. He holds his breath as he listens to it ring.

"Todd." Kate's voice comes over the line, crisp and clear.

He nearly drops the phone as words fail him. His lips move as he tries to formulate some string of coherent thoughts to speak to a ghost. He pictures her standing at his desk with her hands on her hips, phone cradled to her ear, and mean as cat piss.

"Hello?" She huffs. "This is Agent Todd."

He snaps back to life. "Agent Todd, it's Detective DiNozzo Metro PD. I'm calling about our mutual case. Mulroney and – "

The dial tone cuts him off.

Frowning, Tony replaces the phone onto his cradle. He'd hoped that surrendering his evidence to Gibbs' team earlier would help grease the wheels of communication, but obviously that didn't work. Hell, nothing that he had done so far had worked at all.

Hanging up on a contact, that's a game that Tony never even considered. Sure, sending reports to the wrong agency-the FBI was close to the CIA-or someone with a similar name-Jones really did sound like Johannsen-were juvenile and probably wrong, but it slowed others down just long enough for Tony and the team to close a case. But outrightly ignoring someone wasn't something that a cheeky smile and well-placed 'oops' could get him out of.

Now, Tony doesn't care how Hibbard gets his hands on those reports. He doesn't care how many dates he has to pimp Sparr out on to get them. He doesn't care how many rules he has to break, especially since he won't be staying.

Right now, Tony just wants to beat the old team at their own game.


	12. Chapter 12

**11:18am – Metro Police Station** **– Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

The morning burns away quicker than Tony expects. He works at his desk, head down and actively ignoring the gaggle of officers gossiping about who the chief is currently sleeping with. For all the times he wished he had an office back at NCIS, now he'd give his right kidney for a door.

_Sparr isn't going to appreciate those rumors when she shows up. She might just shoot one of the unis._

He loses all track of time as he tackles a pile of cases he knows nothing about. He writes one report that reads _My partner and I apprehended the dirtbag,_ prints out a bunch of copies, staples them into the files, and slides them to his outbox. He isn't paying attention to his police work because his mind is too busy tackling every possible angle for how to beat Gibbs at the investigation.

By the time he finishes up, he reaches the decision that he needs to search Jackson Mulroney's house. Sure the NCIS team has probably already ripped the house to shreds, but maybe—just maybe—they missed a piece of evidence that could give Tony and Sparr an advantage.

He bolts out of his chair so fast that he nearly gets whiplash. As he rushes through the squad room, the gossiping uniforms rubberneck after him. He swears he hears one of them mutter something about how he's probably spending time between Sparr's legs too. He bites the inside of his cheek, makes a note to set up that bastard for bitch work later. Like dumpster diving in the middle of August or babysitting a suspect's house in the dark.

He bumps into Sparr by the entrance to the squad room. She clutches a paper cup of coffee like it's the only thing keeping her awake—and alive.

"I was just coming to get you," she says. "We got another case."

He half-smiles. "And I was just about to get you so we could run down a lead on our John Doe."

"Yeah, right." She shakes her head, sips her coffee. "We both know you weren't coming to get me."

Tony looks away. "I figured you'd be less pissed at me about the evidence if I found something new on my own."

He tries to sweeten the deal with his trademark grin, but she makes a face. "That might work on the rookies, but I'm used to it."

Shrugging, he crosses his arms. "Well, it was worth a shot. What have we got?"

"Some rookie found a body during a well-check. It sounds like a pretty cut and dry suicide. Bottle of pills next to the dead guy. We'd just be there to make the ruling official." She cocks her head, smiles conspiratorially. "Do you think your lead will help us close our case before Gibbs?"

"I sure as hell hope so. Someone needs to teach them to play nice."

She drums her fingers against her coffee cup. "I'll cover for you at the scene. Just make sure you get us something concrete. Did you talk to Hibbard yet?"

While he relays the autopsy findings, she nods with rapt interest. Once Tony finishes, she says: "I'm glad he finally managed to come up with something useful. Although, you're probably going to have to deal with him. Every time I go down there, the creeper asks me out."

Tony decides now isn't the time to tell her that he already promised the creeper a date with her.

"Keep me in the loop?" she asks.

"And you let me know how that suicide turns out."

Sparr laughs, throaty and sultry. "Dead. And he'll still be dead when I get there."

Rolling her eyes, she continues to smiles to herself as she heads towards her desk. But one look at the group of congregating officers wipes the grin right off her face. When she lasers a death glare on them, they disperse like she threatened to blow their balls off with her Glock. The smile returns as she grabs her gear out of her desk.

Sweat pricks to Tony's back when he tries to imagine the reaction he'll get when he breaks the news about Hibbard. Maybe showing her a copy of NCIS' autopsy reports and the potential of beating Gibbs at his own game might make the terrible news easier to swallow.

Deciding he'll just have to deal with it later, he makes his way to the elevator. Tony finds Tim leaned against the wall, playing a game on his phone. From where Tony stands, it looks like Tetris involving candy. Tony never took Tim as the kind of man to play those games. But then again, everything is different here.

As soon as he sees Tony, Tim's face lights up and he tucks his phone away. Tony doesn't break stride, just heads straight into the elevator.

Tim is right behind him. "So where do you want to grab lunch today, Tony? The hot dog place around the corner just got a new mustard. All the way from France. Want to check it out?"

"I'm going to have to take a rain check, Tim. I just caught a lead."

When Tim doesn't get out, Tony hits the door close button. They ride in silence for a few long seconds until Tim clears his throat.

"Does it have anything to do with that jump drive you left on my desk earlier?" Tim asks.

Tony glances over. "I'm not sure. Did you find anything on it?"

Tim wavers for a moment. "Yes and no."

"What does that mean?"

"First, whatever was all over it fried one of the USB ports on my laptop. But – "

"Stomach acid."

Tim pales considerably. "You left me something that had bile on it on my desk."

Tony shrugs. "Did you wear gloves like I told you in my note?"

"Of course. But that's not the point." Rolling his eyes, Tim crosses his arms. "It was a biohazard that should've been – "

"Did you find anything or not, Tim?" Tony interrupts.

"There were a bunch of documents on the computer. On the surface, they appeared to be requisition forms for MREs. In total, a Petty Officer Mulroney ordered three hundred chicken penne meals and seventy-six beef tip tenderloins. It looked like he was in the market for some fish and some shrimp dishes too."

"Why the hell would someone swallow a jump drive to hide orders of MREs?"

Tim's smile is slight. "Those meals aren't standard issue, so…"

"It's likely he was trying to hide something."

"I found a bunch of encrypted documents on there too. The encryption is similar to the one in Dvorak's case, so I don't need to write a new program. I do need to give it time to run because…"

But Tony is too busy considering why his John Doe swallowed a jump drive right before he was executed and what MREs that don't exist could even be code for in the criminal underworld to listen to his friend.

When the elevator hits the garage level, Tony heads straight for his van before the doors even fully open. Tim follows, a half-step behind, still explaining in painstaking detail how his code will rip through layers up layers of military code. No one knows what they'll find, but Tim is pretty certain he'll get there.

Tony climbs into the van and fires up the engine while Tim hops into the passenger seat as though on auto-pilot. Tim's techno-babble serves as a comforting white noise for Tony to piece together his theories. Maybe those fake MRE orders could be code for arms or weapons. Or perhaps Jackson Mulroney was actually a chef in his sparetime hoping to secure a great deal with the Navy for new MRE recipes. Right now, either seems equally likely.

After driving the van out of the garage, he points it in the direction of Jackson Mulroney's house. If he wants to solve the case before Gibbs, the best place to start is with something concrete. Search the house of the known victim in hopes that it'll give him a clue to the identity of his victim.

Suddenly, Tim goes dead quiet.

Tony snaps out of his thoughts. "Everything okay over there, Tim?"

Tim blinks like he just realized they weren't in the garage anymore. "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene."

As Tim shifts back in his seat, Tony swears he sees excitement pass over his friend's face. They trace the back streets of DC in silence and Tony doesn't bother to break it. At a red light, he closes his eyes for a half-second and he can see himself and Tim stuck in traffic in the Charger back home so clearly that he actually believes he's there again. When a horn blares behind them, the dream fades.

Truth, Tony starts to believe, might actually be stranger than fiction.

_I don't even know what's real anymore._

When they arrive at Jackson Mulroney's home, Tony pulls the van up to the deserted curb. He steps out of the vehicle, careful to avoid the place where Mulroney ran him down merely days ago. Even though the blacktop is still pristine under the bright summer sun, Tony swears he can almost smell his blood cooking on the sun soaked asphalt.

Tim clears his throat, bring Tony back to the moment. So they sweep across the yard together, careful to avoid the flowers flagging in the mid-day heat.

Crime scene tape already clings to Mulroney's front porch, flutters around the front door like forgotten party streamers. Tim plucks a knife out of his waistband, motions towards the tape blocking the door.

_It's almost like Tim has done this before._

Nodding, Tony unholsters his weapon. Tim shoves the door open, then ducks out of the way as Tony slinks inside.

Moving on the balls of his feet, Tony creeps through the darkened house. Newspapers cover the front windows, smothering whatever light that tries to sneak inside. The darkness makes Tony's hair stand on end and sweat starts down his back. He isn't sure whether it's from the thrill of the case or because the air conditioner simply isn't running.

Tony's foot catches on a wayward beer bottle and he barely regains his balance. One swift kick sends it into a pile of magazines and books with a satisfying _plink_.

He quickly clears the interior: two small bedroom, one tiny living area, a tight kitchen, and a postage-stamp sized bathroom. Once he's certain that it's safe, he tucks his gun away and gives Tim the all clear.

Moments later, they're standing in the middle of the living room with their hands on their hips, surveying the disaster area that Mulroney called home. Tony breathes through his mouth because the whole place smells like wet dog, kibble, and shit. Thankfully, the hellhound is nowhere to be found, even though his toys and dried up bits of drool are all over what once was carpet.

Tim sneezes violently. Tony pulls on a pair of gloves. Even though NCIS probably already searched the scene, there is so much stuff in one space that they could've missed something. At least, Tony hopes.

"Where should we start?" Tim asks. "The bedroom?"

Tony quirks an eyebrow. "I thought you were just along for the ride, Tim. Best to keep your poking around to the digital world, not the real one."

"I still know what I'm doing, Tony. I haven't been behind a desk for that long." When Tony cocks his head, Tim makes a face. "Come on, I didn't leave NCIS all that long ago."

Tony's taken aback. "NCIS?"

Biting his lip, Tony has no idea what the hell Tim is talking about. He mentally kicks himself for not running a background check on his only friend when he had the chance.

"Yeah, you were the one who convinced me to come to Metro when they had an opening in the computer forensics department. What's – "

"I'm just pulling your leg, Tim." And Tony does what he always does when his cover's about to be blown. He grasps for straws and hopes to hell he's right. "Of course, you abandoned the sub-basement and Cybercrimes for the pleasure of working with me. It doesn't have anything to do with the title and fancy office, does it?"

"Not at all." Tim laughs. "So where should I search?"

Tony shakes his head as he digs through a couch cushion. "Best to leave it to the professionals, McMacBook."

Rolling his eyes, Tim reaches into Tony's back pocket to pull out his extra pair of gloves. After Tim pulls them on, he sets his sight on the television console. As soon as he starts pawing through the piles of paper on the furniture, Tony clears his throat.

Tim glances over. "What?"

"Maybe it would be better if you waited in the car. I could use a look-out."

"Come on, Tony. I know what I'm doing."

Tony takes a step towards his neighbor. "There's a protocol, Tim. I don't want – "

"Anyone to know we were here, right?" Before Tony has a chance to speak, Tim grins. "I used to be a field agent at NCIS, but don't let that get around the office."

Tony blinks. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I worked as a field agent for about a year before I joined Cybercrimes."

Tony's knees suddenly go weak and he sits down on the couch. Something wet soaks through his chinos. But he doesn't want to know what the fuck it is because in this house, it might just be contagious.

"What happened?" he asks.

"My team and I worked a particularly tense case. I got abducted and winged by a deranged Israeli superspy in the same week." Tim wears an apprehensive smile as he gestures to his left forearm. "After that, I figured a desk job would let me live a little longer."

Tony whispers, "So Ari got you, not Kate," so quietly that it comes like a breath.

Tim tilts his head. "Did you just say something?"

"I just said, 'Why don't you take the bedroom?'"

Nodding unconvinced, Tim disappears into the back of the house. As he climbs back to his feet, breakfast rises to the back of Tony's throat. He attacks the mess on the coffee table, digs through the piles of past-due bills and junk mail. He doesn't find anything.

He turns to the nearest end table. It has a drawer cut into the face of the wood and when he jerks it open, he finds candy wrappers, wadded bubble gum, and chewed-up dog bones. He keeps digging through the mess because his gut tells him that something is here, that something has to be. In the very back, his fingers wrap around a piece of leather on the bottom of the drawer.

_Why would Mulroney need a drawer with a false bottom?_

He yanks the whole thing out, dumps all of the useless shit onto the floor. Then he opens the false bottom to discover a pair of passports and two driver's licenses. One has a picture of Jackson Mulroney with the name: John McClane.

Tony makes a face.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me._

The other ID has a picture of someone who vaguely resembles his John Doe…if you can compare the dried up husk on Hibbard's autopsy table to a picture of a living breathing person. The name, Malcolm Crowe, is Bruce Willis' character from _The Sixth Sense-_ and yes, Tony now does see dead people. Even though the name is definitely a fake, it's the closest thing Tony and Sparr have had to a lead on his identity. At least Tony knows his John Doe and Jackson Mulroney were Bruce Willis fans.

After he tucks the IDs into an evidence bag, he moves to search the kitchen. He checks the fridge, like he always does, and turns up a typical bachelor diet of light beer and rotten Chinese food. He moves on to search the drawers. Most of them are empty with the exception of menus from local restaurants. Tony bags the one with the same name as the take-out box in the fridge. Even something as innocuous as that could be the key to connecting John Doe to Jackson Mulroney and blowing his case wide open.

Sighing, Tony gives up on picking through the trash.

Maybe Tim has had better luck with the bedroom, if there's even anything left. Knowing Gibbs, that would be the place he would rip apart first. Tony is just lucky to have a few scraps that the team overlooked elsewhere in the house. He tries to tell himself that all of the good stuff isn't already gone.

"Hey Tim!" Tony calls. "Did you find anything yet?"

"No, but I'm….I'm coming to you." Tim sounds anxious, stressed.

Tony's hand reaches for his Glock on reflex and he slinks to hide behind the nearest wall. From his vantage point, he watches Tim walk slowly out of the hallway.

Tim's hands are behind his back, his face uneasy. Something isn't right and it sets off the alarm bells in Tony's gut. Tony leans into the hallway for a better view.

That's when he notices the tall, thin man holding a gun against Tim's side.


	13. Chapter 13

**12:28pm – 3467 Atherton St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony's weapon is instantly pointed at the man's head, right between his eyes. One squeeze from an itchy trigger finger will drop him like a lead balloon, but Tony still wants to resolve this quietly, quickly, peacefully without Tim ending up as a blood stain on the carpet.

The man's cheeks go stark white when his gaze lands on Tony. The gun against Tim's side vibrates with its own nervous energy like the man is completely out of his depth—or out of his mind. But his eyes are surprisingly clear and Tony seriously doubts that the man is tripping balls at the moment.

The man tries his damnedest to school the fear from his boyish face. It doesn't work.

Tony can't stop the smile that creeps onto his.

Taking down the dirtbag should be easy, just like shooting fish in a barrel. His excitement vanishes as soon as he meets Tim's eyes. By the look of things, Tim is gearing up for his own escape attempt. Tony shakes his head and mouths, _Don't._

The gun suddenly slips in Tony's direction.

"Bad idea, dirtbag." Tony ignores the man's shocked expression. "Place the gun on the ground and let my friend go. Now!"

"I'm a federal agent." The man just tightens his grip on Tim's arm. "You drop your weapon and I won't add resisting arrest to the B and E charge."

Tony bites his lip, mentally curses himself for not thinking that Gibbs—or Kate, rather—would leave some hapless probie to babysit their crime scene.

"It's bad form to arrest the detective you're supposed to be collaborating with," Tony says.

The agent pales considerably. "Wha…what?"

"I'm DiNozzo, Metro PD and you've got our head of computer forensics cuffed over there." Tony smiles fluidly, making the anger deepen on Tim's face. "His name's McGee."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry." He cringes as though he broke some unspoken rule. "Zeke Ross, NCIS. I….I…yeah, no one told me that you were coming."

"It's okay, but things might go smoother if you uncuff my friend." When Zeke doesn't move, Tony points his gun towards the ground and reaches into his back pocket. Zeke jerks Tim closer. "I'm just going for my badge, okay?"

Zeke nods, clearly waiting until Tony holds up his badge. After the agent is done scrutinizing it, Tony waves his hand. "I've showed you mine. Now show me yours."

Zeke reaches into his coat to pull out a black envelope. One quick flip reveals a hint of gold that takes Tony's breath away. He spent most of his adult life carrying that badge and he would recognize it anywhere. Nostalgia rises in him like a ghost and he closes his eyes, wishing to hell and back that that lump of metal hadn't meant more to him than anything else in his life.

_I would've given everything to for my agency. And maybe in a way, I did.  
_

Zeke remains still in the hallway as though he isn't quite sure what to do. Eventually, Tim clears his throat and stares at Zeke expectantly.

"Do you mind?" Tim asks.

Zeke springs to life. "Yeah, oh yeah. I'm sor…" He cringes. "I didn't mean for the confusion."

After he uncuffs Tim's wrists, the computer specialist rubs the soreness away. "If you'd just listened, we could've avoided that."

Zeke shrugs apologetically. "You never know what to expect when you're at a scene alone. You two didn't announce yourself, so I thought you two were suspects coming back for something."

"Did you really believe that suspects would return to the scene of the crime?" Tim and Tony dissolve into a fit of laughter, but Zeke doesn't join them. So Tony asks: "Wow, kid, you're really green, aren't you?"

Zeke puffs his chest out. "I graduated from FLETC a few months back. Top of my class."

Tony cocks his head. "How the hell did you make it onto Agent Gibbs' team?"

"I'm very good at what I do."

_Which means the director assigned him to Gibbs' team and didn't give Boss a choice._

Tony and Tim share an incredulous look before they bust up laughing again.

Zeke's face goes bright red as he sputters off a list of his accomplishments that involves the head of his computer club at Stanford, graduating at the top of his class at FLETC, and some meaningless agency awards. He's a lot like Tim when he first joined the team. Young, idealistic, eager to please, and—what Kate probably likes the best about Zeke—a total doormat.

Shaking his head, Tony clasps his hand on Zeke's back. "Look, kid, your accomplishments don't mean jack out here. It's the progress of case after case that'll keep you climbing up the ranks. Don't get complacent because you're way too young for that."

Zeke pulls himself to his full height until he towers over Tony. "And just who do you think figured out that Jackson Mulroney wasn't really smuggling MREs out of the naval base?"

Tim glances over, wide-eyed.

"You have my attention," Tony says. "What _was_ he doing?"

Zeke's faces tell of every mistake that he already made today and the trepidation over the ones he's about to. He purses his lips, turns to stare at a framed movie poster on the wall. _The Fifth Element,_ but that doesn't surprise Tony given Mulroney's penchant for Bruce Willis.

"Don't worry," Tony assures. "Agent Gibbs already read Mr. McGee and me in. You know the whole inter-agency cooperation thing."

Zeke nods as though Tony just said the secret password. When he glances over with trust in his eyes, Tony can't ignore the pang of guilt in his chest. Solving the case might be his key to getting back home, he reminds himself. Plus, he doesn't even know if Zeke Ross exists back there.

_I can't feel bad lying to someone who might not be real, right? Even though all of this feels so real._

"We aren't sure yet, but I can tell you that it wasn't MREs." Zeke puts his hands on his hips, shifts his weight. "They've got to be code for something else. Maybe drugs? Or some sort of military plans? I have no idea yet, but I bet it's going to be bad for everyone involved. We probably won't know more until we find out who killed Mulroney and that other guy."

Tony's eyebrows jump. "You got a name on him?"

Zeke just shakes his head.

As he rubs the back of his neck, Tony can't help feeling sorry for the agent. When Gibbs finds out that Zeke spilled his guts to a Metro detective and a computer nerd, he'll be lucky if he gets stuck doing the bitch work for the next few years. Maybe another team will pick up whatever is left of the poor probie after Gibbs gets done with him.

But Tony will do what he has to do to figure out who is sleeping in Metro's morgue.

As if sensing what Tony is thinking, Tim gestures towards Zeke. "Say, Ross, are you hungry?"

When Tony shoots him a look, Tim waves his had as though to say, _Trust me, I know what I'm doing._

Zeke checks his watch. "A little. I have been here since early this morning."

"Well, Detective DiNozzo and I were going to grab something to eat after we were done." Tim holds his hands out. "Want to join us?"

And in that moment, Tony understands what Tim is up to. He is trying to build an asset, drag the agent to lunch with them so they'll be able to pump him for more information. Tony didn't know Tim had it in him to be so devious.

Something that might be pride wells up in his chest. But here, Tony can't take credit for it. Tim built up that aspect of himself all alone here.

Zeke wavers, seemingly weighing his options. To play nice with Metro and get a free lunch or wait here in the lap of bachelorhood luxury until his team decides to come back for him.

"We're going to get hot dogs," Tim says as though that might seal the deal.

Zeke makes a face. "Thanks anyway. I'm vegetarian."

But Tony is quick to regain the moment. "I know a great falafel place by the Navy Yard." Tim drags his finger across his neck behind Zeke's back. Tony ignores him. "I bet it'll be right up your alley. McGee and I can even give you a ride back to NCIS."

The agent half-heartedly glances around the space as though he is afraid to leave an empty house. Too many hours left alone guarding a location have the tendency to drive even the most stoic agent to stupidity and Tony knows that better than anyone. He tries not to think about how often Tim used to check in when Tony left him to guard those unimportant pieces of evidence during his first year.

Eventually, Zeke puts his hips and tilts his head. "I don't think – "

"Let me get some unis out here." Tony decides the gossip-loving from earlier can swap stories about him and Sparr just as easily as the squad room. "Don't you think you'd be more useful at the Yard running down leads, Ross?"

Pressing his lips together, Zeke carefully nods. "Maybe you're right, Detective. Thank you for looking out for me."

Tony's smile is a little pained. "No problem, kid."

Tony slaps the agent's back as he pulls out his cell phone. He checks in with Sparr, begs for yet another favor. He promises that he'll explain everything soon, but she just needs to hold down the fort and cover their case load for just a bit longer. She hangs up on him. He figures that means they're still good.

While they wait for the unis to show up, Tim's stink-eye is out in full force. Tony just ignores him.

If he's going to screw with Zeke Ross' career, the least he can do is buy the kid a decent lunch.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**3:35pm– Lettuce Feed You – Washington, DC – Around the Corner from the Naval Yard –**

Two falafels and Tim's no-chicken chicken salad sets Tony back twenty bucks, but he doesn't get anything new out of Zeke Ross. Even though the young agent says his team doesn't have anything on Jackson Mulroney either, Tony still thinks Zeke might be lying. Tony bets Zeke already learned the Leroy Jethro Gibbs' rule on interrogation. Number thirty-seven—or was it twenty five?—give your enemies an inch, but make them think it's a mile.

Before they have a chance to stretch the conversation over an egg-free and butter-free and anything delicious-free dessert, Tim chases Zeke out of the restaurant. Tony settles the tab and then, he heads to the van. Zeke lets out a yelp when he sits on a Barbie doll. With his cheeks blazing, he calmly passes the doll to Tim and stares out the window.

The drive back to NCIS feels so foreign to Tony now, even though he took the same route every day from his apartment. No matter how much he tries to hold on to them, the memories of his old life are starting to grey around the edges. Gibbs, Ellie, Ducky, Jimmy and Tim—the real Tim—are still in his head, are still a part of him, but they're starting to fray and unravel like the fabric of an old suit.

He doesn't know whether he wants them back.

Tony glances at the Barbie doll in Tim's lap. Children, Tony thinks, might have a way of changing things.

Tony doesn't head into the agency garage, instead he pulls up to the curb outside of the building. Zeke mumbles a careful _thank you_ on his way out of the van. Tony just nods and then, he watches the young agent lumber into the building.

He lets the van idle for a long time as he stares back at the agency building. Against the clear blue sky, it looks as remote and uninviting as a fortress. He has no idea how he grew to call a place like that home.

A familiar form appears in the entrance doors. With his arms crossed and features pinched, Terrence—that deadbeat guardian angel—tries his best to appear menacing. He manages to look tired and overwhelmed and a bit confused.

He jerks his head to the side, clearly telling Tony to get lost.

_Is there still a place for me here? Do I still want that life?_

Tony's heart drops.

For the time since he got here, he understands that there is no going back to his old self after this. Even if he does manage to find his way home, his life will never be the same. He will never be the same.

He meets Terrence's gaze. The deadbeat angel smiles softly, touches his temple as though to tell Tony that he's finally understanding, finally getting _it._

But Tony still doesn't quite know what _it_ is.

When Tim clears his throat, Tony puts the van in gear.

He heads straight for the police station on reflex. The world outside of the van slithers past like a movie reel. Hazy, heat-baked air wafts off the parked cars and those people stupid enough to venture outside in the heat move slowly, lethargically in their shorts and tank tops and sandals. A ragtag group of kids and teenagers splash in the spray of an opened fire hydrant. Tony doubts they understand that they're wasting water to the tune of hundreds of gallons an minute to get some relief from the heat.

_If Sparr were here, she would want to arrest everyone. And their parents.  
_

Tim just calmly stares out the window.

"Kids will be kids," he sighs.

Tony half-nods, not really listening. His mind is blank, his soul empty. He doesn't know what he is supposed to feel right now, because a part of him—no matter how small—really thought he could go back to his old life unchanged. He misses those peaceful nights in his apartment with a glass of good Scotch and a Cary Grant classic. But, as he sits here now, he still hopes he has another night to hold Phoebe while she slumbers, watch Riley toss and turn, feel Zoe's body pressed against his.

Long before he knows where he'd rather be, Tony finds himself in the station's parking garage. He follows Tim to the elevator, thankful that his friend doesn't like to pry about his silence.

They part ways at the elevator with Tim promising to call as soon as he pulls something useful off the jump drive. But Tim doesn't know when—or if—that will happen.

When Tony gets back to his cubicle, he finds Sparr in his chair with her feet on his desk. The soles of her boots are scuffed and covered with blackened bits of chewing gum; they rest dangerously close to Tony's picture of his family. If he didn't think she would kick his ass, he would tell her to move her feet.

Sparr glances up from the file in her hands. "It's about time you got back, Big D. Did you find anything useful on the John Doe case?"

Tony licks his lips. "I just ran into one of Gibbs' agent at a scene and – "

"And what?" Sparr bolts upright. "Did you get anything that'll help us solve the case before that bastard?"

"Maybe." Tony's smile is slight. "I don't know yet. They're as stuck as we are." He gives her the rundown from the jump drive in their John Doe's stomach to Jackson Mulroney and his MRE smuggling campaign.

Sparr makes a face. "MREs?"

"Meals Ready to Eat." When she cocks her head, Tony continues: "They're pre-packaged, freeze-dried food used by soldiers in combat zones and by doomsday preppers in their bunkers."

"Gibbs and his super agents thought someone got whacked over TV dinners..."

Tony half-nods. "I've seen someone get killed for less."

Sparr considers for a moment. "Yeah, me too. But what do the TV dinners have to do with any of this?"

"I have no clue. Hopefully, Tim will get something off that jumpdrive sooner rather than later." Tony slouches against the wall of his cubicle. "How did the suicide go?"

"The damn rookie didn't do a thorough search of the body." Sparr's light eyes go dark. "She completely missed the strangulation marks on the vic's neck and the defensive wounds all over the body. Plus, the vic's whole place was tossed."

"So our – "

"Suicide got murdered." Sparr rolls her eyes. "Where are we getting these recruits from anyway? It's like they don't know their ass from their head."

Tony decides the question is probably rhetorical. "I'm sure you taught her how to do a thorough search right after you made her cry."

"Damn right, Big D." Sparr's grin is contagious. "Somebody's got to teach the rookies how to do things."

Just as Tony starts to respond, his cell phone rings. He holds up one finger to Sparr as he turns away.

He answers it. "DiNozzo."

_"Hey Tony."_ Tim's voice comes over the line.

"Hey Tim. That was fast. You got something already?"

Sparr sneaks into Tony's vantage point. Her face turns excited like she might get the chance to land an arrest before the day is over.

_"Yes and no."_ Tim clears his throat. " _I got a hit on my program, but it wasn't what I was expecting. Apparently, there were different layers of encryption for different files. So I think I need to rewrite my code. Maybe I could try – "_

"What do you have?"

Tim laughs awkwardly. _"I managed to pull a name off one of a file._ _It could be your John Doe or an alias or anyone really. But it's definitely the person who created at least one of the files."_

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "Spit it out, Tim."

_"Elijah Boress,"_ Tim says quietly. _"I'll know more once I – "_

"Thanks, Tim," Tony says as he shuts the phone.

When he turns to face Sparr, she looks like a little kid on Christmas morning. She rocks on her heels, barely able to contain her anticipation.

"Tell me we got something good," she says.

"Just a name. That's it."

Tony is painfully aware not to get her hopes up, but her realizes it's too late when she darts back to his computer. Her eyes shine as she rests her fingers on the keyboard.

"Lay it on me, Big D. We're going to blow this case wide open."


	14. Chapter 14

**5:42pm – 4521 22nd St. NE, Washington, DC – Carver Langston Neighborhood –**

Sparr is far better with computers than she lets on. In less than twenty minutes, she discovers that Elijah Boress listed a fake address on his driver's license, forwards a photo to Hibbard for a positive ID of their John Doe, and comes up with a location of his rental after cross-referencing an arrest report for indecent exposure.

Tony barely has time to pick his jaw off the floor when she whisks him to the garage.

Tony is still recovering from binary whiplash when Sparr pulls the squad car against the curb in front of a tiny bungalow deep in the projects of the Carver Langston neighborhood. The little, picturesque house appears to be slowly forgetting what it felt like to be loved. The crisp and clean paint lines of the shutters and the siding, once done by an expert hand, are now melting into each other. In what was once the garden, weeds strangle the corpses of sunbaked flowers.

Sparr dips down in her seat to survey the house. "Do you really think Boress could be our John Doe?"

"We won't know until Hibbard calls." Tony checks his phone just in case. Hopefully, the ME has enough sense to call him instead of Sparr with the news. "Do you think we should check it out?'

"We sure as hell didn't come all this way for the view."

His grin turns roguish. "Then let's get on with our well-check."

Before he is even out of the car, Sparr is halfway across the yard. Tony jogs to catch up, but the thick and soupy air threatens to suffocate him. His back is slick with sweat by the time he joins her near the porch. He jerks his head towards the house, but something in the driveway holds her attention.

Sparr heads over to the rusted husk of a muscle car supported on concrete blocks. She rubs the dust off the windows to peer inside. Tony doubts they'll find anything in the ripped vinyl seating or padding that topples onto the floor.

_Maybe Sparr will find her mind in there._

Sighing, he follows her. "Sparr, what are – "

Turning back, she holds a finger to her lips. "Did you hear that?"

Somewhere nearby, Tony catches the unmistakable sound of children playing. When he strains his ears, he catches the faint tinkle of an ice cream truck's song. He wonders how much business the truck can do in this neighborhood at dinnertime, but then again, he is pretty sure that if he were at his house, Riley would be the first in line with her tooth fairy money.

The flash in Sparr's earnest eyes tells him that he should be hearing something here and now. She rolls her head towards the bungalow.

He glances back to the house and suddenly understands.

"Did you hear that scream too?" he asks.

Nodding, she places her hand on her weapon. "I think we should check it out."

He unholsters his Glock, then leads the way to the front door.

The porch steps groan under their weight like the two of them are just too much to bear. Plastic Christmas decorations stand at attention by the front window like good soldiers. Tony stares a life-sized Santa Claus in the eye while Sparr pounds on the door loud enough for the entire block to hear.

"Sir, it's the police!" she yells. "We heard someone screaming."

Even though it's just for show, Sparr is determined to put on a good one. A jogger stops on the sidewalk, watching them with wide and worried eyes. Groaning, Tony decides he needs to make it look as real as possible. If they have probable cause to get into the house, he and Sparr should be able to find something for their case with it still being admissible in court.

The hint of a smile pulls at his lips.

_Great partners think alike._

Tony leans against the siding, pretends to try and peer through the window on the door. "Are you alright in there, sir?"

They wait long enough for another jogger to pause for the act.

Sparr glances at Tony and stage-whispers: "We need to make sure that man's alright."

Tony shares her grim-face. "Yeah. He could be injured."

"Sir! Don't worry! We're coming in!" Sparr yells.

The pair of joggers dissolve into quiet whispers, probably an active discussion about what could be going on inside or why the police are on their block. Tony will need to get their names when he and Sparr are done. The last thing they'll need is for some over-zealous lawyer to try and get their evidence thrown out. He hopes they find something inside worth all the effort.

Tony shoots the joggers a little wave to let them know that he's seen them, that they shouldn't go anywhere, that they could be next on the police's agenda. They wave back awkwardly, muscles tensed to bolt as soon as Sparr and Tony are out of view. But he'll just hunt them down later.

Sparr tries the door knob while Tony sinks against the wall, ready to sweep inside first. Surprisingly, the door is unlocked and Tony slinks into the house on the balls of his feet.

Sparr is right behind him, her solid footsteps echoing and her hot breath on his neck.

As soon as they're inside, the stench of bleach makes Tony's eyes burn. Sunlight sweeps through a big picture window in the living room, making the pristine white carpet and an ecru sofa appear to be a gift from G-d himself. Sparr and Tony trample right over the vacuum cleaner lines that are cut into the carpet on their way into the kitchen. To him, it seems they might be the first people to step on it.

The set-up in the kitchen would make any chef drool with its six-burner stove, miles of granite, and more pots and pans than any restaurant. Sparr and Tony move to clear two tiny bedrooms that are furnished with high-end furniture that looks like something out of a catalog.

Everything in the house is too perfect, too generic, too sterile. Even though everything was set-up with careful attention to the tiniest detail, it appears that no one ever lived here.

Sparr pauses in the kitchen and holsters her weapon. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, but they're still bloodshot.

"I don't get it," she says.

Tony tucks his Glock away, shrugs. "I don't either."

"There's nothing here," Sparr says, a little louder this time. "What the hell? How the hell can this place be a bust? G-damn it, that was our only lead."

He hates to admit that she's right, but he can't bring himself to say the words. Instead, he just stands silently as she storms into the living room. Hell hath no fury like a detective with a promising lead gone dead. Tony wants to stay on her good side—the one that lets him live.

She kicks the edge of the sofa, smearing dirt from her boot all over the side.

"There aren't any photos. There's no computer and no phone. There is nothing here." Her hands are balled into tight fists when she turns back to Tony. "Why in the hell would anyone bother to put all this stuff here and not use it?"

Tony stays quiet, lets her rant, because he doesn't have the answer. Hell, he doesn't even have a guess.

Sparr kicks the sofa again.

They stay quiet for several long minutes while Sparr paces around the living room muttering under her breath like a madwoman. Tony searches the kitchen counter as though why anyone would bother furnishing a house and not living in it might be written in the granite. He scuffs his sneakers along the hardwood floor when he notices something peering out from underneath the fridge.

He picks up the flat, gold foil wrapper and turns it over in his hand. The words _Chicken Penne_ are typed on the front in huge block letters.

_Why is there an unused MRE wrapper here?_

Tony scrubs the back of his neck. Just as he is about to call Sparr over, she lays down on the floor to stare blankly at the ceiling.

"You know there aren't any lights in the house," she says suddenly.

"We already established that no one lives here." Tony heads over to loom over Sparr. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Figured it was time to think outside the box." She tilts her gaze to meet his. "My sarge used to say sometimes you just need a change in perspective to solve a case."

"Oh yeah? How's that working out for you?"

She makes a face. "Not well. You know what would really help?"

He holds up the MRE packaging. "A lead?"

Sparr's eyes light up as she pounces to her feet. She takes the wrapper from Tony's hands as though they just found the Holy Grail, as though they just solved their case.

Before long confusion sets across her features. "I don't understand why this would be here. And why didn't they use it?"

Tony jerks his head towards the kitchen. "Maybe Boress was making black market MREs and selling them to the Navy to make a few bucks?" Her look calls him an idiot and he laughs. "It's a working theory. Have you got a better one?"

She puts her hands on her hips, surveys the house once again. "Not yet, but there isn't much else we can do here without a warrant."

"Do you think that's enough?" he asks, gesturing towards the packaging.

She shrugs. "We won't know until we try."

After a shared nod, the pair head out of the house. When they arrive at the car, Sparr doesn't unlock it right away. Tony stares at her, trying to read her mind, as she turns back to the bungalow.

She quirks an eyebrow. "We really should get some unis out here in case someone comes by. What do you think, Big D?"

Pressing his lips together, Tony nods like his life depends on it. If he doesn't agree, he is pretty sure that he'll be the one baby-sitting the house instead of the unis.

With a smile that could cut glass, she calls into headquarters and requests three specific uniforms to come to the property. She tells dispatch that she doesn't care that it's Friday night and two are about to go off-shift in a few minutes. These three, she says, are the only ones she trusts with a sensitive case.

After she hangs up the phone, she unlocks the car and they slip inside.

"Since those three bastards like to spread rumors," she says, "they can think of some new material out here."

Tony doesn't tell her that he already sent a group of gossiping uniforms to babysit the Mulroney house. He doesn't know any of their names, but he hopes that they won't leave that crime scene to come here.

When Sparr starts the car, the air conditioner blasts hot air into their faces. Slowly, it begins to cool down and Tony finally stops sweating. Sparr fumbles with the car stereo until she finds a twangy country song that borders on bluegrass. Based on the look on her face, Tony would guess that music helps her think.

He stares back at the bungalow and ignores the lyrics about a long lost hound dog.

Tony shoots Tim a text, _Got anything yet?_

Tim's reply is instantaneous, _I already told you that I have to rewrite my code._ A moment later, _I'll let you know as soon as I have something. I promise._

Sighing, Tony's mind kicks into overdrive on their case.

_Why would anyone furnish a house, but never use it? Why would there an unused MRE wrapper in a kitchen that looks like no one ever used it? And why the fuck did everything smell like bleach?_

Tony still doesn't have any answers when two squad cars come screaming up to the curb with their lights on. The cars go silent, but their lights twirl in the early summer evening.

A dark-haired officer unfolds himself from the driver's seat of the closest car. His open face pulls into a scowl when he notices Sparr and Tony. She offers him a friendly grin and waves him over. He ducks back into the car to say something to his partner before he ambles to Sparr's window.

Sparr waits for a long beat before she rolls down the window. "Thanks for coming, Fisher."

Fisher purses his lips. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

"You see that house over there?" When she points to the bungalow, his gaze follows. "I need you and your friends to keep an eye on the place in case anyone comes back."

"That's the emergency?" He blinks. "Dispatch said – "

"That you three were the only ones that DiNozzo and I could trust, yes." She rubs her chin and screws her lips into a sneer. "Come to think of it, that might have been an exaggeration. But while you're here…"

Fisher shifts his weight. "But Smith and I were just about to go off shift. I have a date to - "

"I don't care if you have plans to bang the brains out of some supermodel tonight. You'll call me if someone comes back the house, got it?"

Fisher sets his jaw, his eyes turning lethal. But eventually, he nods. "Yes, ma'am."

Tony leans over. "By the way, there were two joggers here earlier. A man in his 50s, salt and pepper hair with green shorts and a younger blonde woman, maybe 20-something with rainbow shoes. Find them and get their statements for us."

Fisher forces a nasty smile for Tony. "We're on it, Detective."

Without another word, Fisher heads back to his squad car. Sparr doesn't stick around to watch the officers set up for their long night—or to count how many expletives they'll call her and Tony.

She puts the car in gear. "Damn that felt good."

"Remind me to stay on your good side, Sparr." Tony quirks a smile.

"You always are, Big D." She leers at him with a shit-eating grin and playfully punches his shoulder. "Well, you will be for giving our evidence to that Navy bastard after we give him a taste of his own medicine."

Tony laughs and settles in to watch the city sweep past the car.

On the way back to the station, Tony and Sparr fall into a comfortable exchange of theories. Tony never thought it could be so easy to spitball with just one person. She lobs ideas like free throws. Nothing is too ridiculous, too absurd, too off-the-wall for her. Because, she says, all it takes is that one stroke of genius to find the right angle and solve their case.

Tony sits back, offers what he has when it comes to him.

His and Sparr's session feels so normal and so alien at the same time. It isn't anything like what he experienced on Gibbs' team. He is so used to Gibbs' quiet speculation, Ellie Bishop's pattern recognition, and Tim's careful, computational analysis, not Sparr's thoughts about how the people who bought the house ended up in witness protection or just decided that they didn't like it.

But even here, Tony tries to follow his gut without question. And while it used to help lead Gibbs' team to a—usually correct—conclusion, he hopes that it still works for him and Sparr.

But right now, his gut is still reeling like a fish out of water.

When they pull into the garage, Sparr has decided that Elijah Boress isn't in the morgue and that he's a classically trained chef who is milking the government by making counterfeit MREs. She still doesn't know why he doesn't live in his rental, but that's the first thing she'll ask him at the arrest.

Sparr kills the ignition and glances over at Tony as though she expects him to buy her working theory. That familiar niggle in his gut tells him that she's dead wrong and he doubts it's still jet lagged by the reality jump.

Tony meets her eyes, shakes his head.

Her shoulders sag. "Alright, Big D, what do you think?"

He frowns. "I don't know yet."

Sighing, she climbs out of the car. He trails her a few steps to the elevator before she turns around.

"What are you doing, DiNozzo?" she asks.

"Going upstairs to fill out my report and waiting until we get that warrant to search the place."

"Don't worry about it. I need to call in the favor with my friend at the judge's office." She pulls out her cell phone. "Why don't you go spend some time with your family?"

Tony cocks his head. "What about you? Aren't you going home?"

A heartbroken smile slips across Sparr's face. "You know there's nothing for me since Mark died."

Her free hand creeps to her necklace and for the first time, Tony notices the engagement ring that hangs on the heavy chain. He bites the inside of his cheek.

Sparr continues: "You covered all those days while we were going through chemo. Letting you spend time with your kids is the least I can do."

Tony pauses for a long beat. "Thanks."

She just shrugs like it means nothing. "I'm just returning the favor. Go have fun with your girls and tell Zoe that I said hi."

"I will."

He reaches into his pocket, fumbling for his keys, while Sparr strides to the elevator. Tony heads over to the van, a little surprised to see Tim's Audi still in its parking place. If Tony had to, he would bet that Tim is probably reworking his code to pull something off the jump drive.

He watches Sparr rush towards the elevator. Something that feels a bit like regret wells up in his chest and he wonders whether they might be friends in this life.

"Hey Andrea!" Tony calls suddenly.

She turns back, perplexed. "Yeah?"

"After we're done this case, you should come over for dinner." Tony makes a guess and hopes to hell that he's right. "Zoe would love to see you again."

"I'd like that. And invite your buddy from IT." Sparr smiles broadly. "That guy's a hoot."

Grinning, Tony nods. "It's a date."


	15. Chapter 15

**7:12pm – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony hears the squabble before he even makes it through the front door. He freezes with his key in the lock. Even though he can't make out the words, he recognizes that tone Zoe uses. It's the one that usually makes an appearance when he forgets to ask about her day, accidentally insinuates that she might be gaining a little weight, or commits the mortal sin of dropping dinner plans to run at Gibbs' beck and call.

He rests his hand on the door and swallows hard.

Whichever kid is on the receiving end might just end up as his and Sparr's next case.

The ghost of a smile haunts his lips as he listens to the mundane moment. When he was younger, he would have killed for an opportunity to be scolded. But his father didn't believe in grounding or losing his 'privileges.' Instead, Tony enjoyed a one-way ticket to the military school du jour.

When the voices grow louder, he takes a step towards the van. Maybe he can hide out in his car until Zoe grounds—or unleashes a sentence of life without parole on—Riley and he won't have to deal with it.

_It sounds like Zoe has the situation under control in there._

He only manages a single step before the front door flies open.

Matty McGee barrels full-force into Tony, nearly knocking them both over. Tony catches the boy's shoulders to keep him from toppling over.

Matty breaks out an awkward grin. Tony instantly recognizes that look from Tim's probie days. He saw the same one far too many times on long nights when the leads dried up and suspects' alibis checked out, when they were trying their best not to admit their failures to Gibbs, when they had nothing.

_Christ, the kid looks so guilty._

"H-h-hiya, M-m-mr. D," Matty stutters.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. The kid even sounds like Tim. All agitated energy and raw fear in uncomfortable situations, but level-headed and confident when he has the advantage. For a moment, Tony wonders how many little nuances Riley and Phoebe inherited from him and Zoe.

When another shout comes, Matty's body tenses as though he's ready to bolt.

"What's going on in there?" Tony asks.

"R-r-riley g-got in t-t-trouble again." Matty makes a face, obviously agitated by the sound of his own voice. Then he bites his lip and says a little surer, a little slower: "Riley got in trouble again. Mrs. D didn't believe her about what happened. It wasn't her fault. It was…"

Tony stares at the boy down. "Yours?"

Matty's eyes nearly bug out of his head. "N-n-n-no! I d-d-d-didn't do it-t-t either."

Just as he is about to ask about why Matty acts like he committed murder, something drips onto his shoe. At that moment, Tony notices the sandwich clutched in the little boy's hands. From the bits of spaghetti sauce on his sneaker, Tony suspects it might be meatball night.

Tony's eyebrows jump. "So that's it?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. D. It's just that I was going to stay for dinner, but I thought it would be a bad idea. After Mrs. D got mad, I didn't….I didn't…I was in the way." Matty holds his sandwich up. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

Tony tries his best not to laugh. "You thought I'd be mad that you took a sub to go?"

Matty nods like a kid condemned to death by kale chips. "It's zuccighetti night."

Tony tilts his head. "Zucc-what?"

"My mom likes to make spaghetti out of zucchini with – " Matty cringes visibly " – tofu meatballs. It's her favorite, so I try to pretend that I like it. But Mrs. D's dinners are way better."

When Matty offers up his sandwich again, Tony shakes his head. "It's okay, mini-McGee, you eat it. But don't you think it's time that you come clean with your mom about her cooking?"

"I can't. Ever since my mom…ever since…." His breath comes in short gasps as he drops his gaze to his legs. When Tony puts his hand on Matty's shoulder, the little boy calms down. "It's the only thing that she likes to do. My dad and I agreed that we'd pretend to like it. To make her happy. She deserves to be happy."

Tony blinks, taken aback by Matty's sudden maturity. Unsure what to say, he pats the boy's shoulder. Eventually, he settles on: "I'm sure your mom is very happy, Matty. Just don't let her find out that we're feeding you meat."

Matty laughs. "On it, Mr. D."

Tony turns to usher the boy into the house, but a loud, "I didn't do it!" from Riley stops them in their tracks. Matty looks like he might be sick and Tony hopes that he'll have the grace to aim for the bushes. Nervous stomachs seem to run in the McGee genes too.

"Why don't you eat your sandwich on the porch?" Tony asks.

Matty nods. "Thanks, Mr. D."

"Sure. Just knock really loud if you want another one." Tony heads for the front door, praying that the sudden quiet means the fight is over. "And tell your dad that we've got leftovers if he's interested."

With a thankful smile, Matty moves to the porch swing on the far end of the house. He drops into the seat and dives into his sandwich like it's his last meal. As Tony heads inside, Matty gives him a salute as though to say, _Good luck and G-dspeed, Mr. D._

Luck isn't on his side because Riley and Zoe's fight has progressed to the interrogation stage.

The entire house is dark except for a single desk lamp that burns on the coffee table. Its glow is aimed at the couch where Riley sits with her hands in her lap. Zoe is perched on one of the kitchen chairs, arms crossed and trying to stare a hole through her daughter. Even though she looks terrifying in the low light, she is still a long way from mastering Gibbs' glare. At Zoe's feet, Phoebe happily plays with the dismembered torso of a Barbie doll.

Tony thinks he saw a scene like this in a horror movie once. He wonders whether he can make it to the van before any of them notice that he's here or they turn into monsters.

"Look, Riley, your father is home," Zoe says like she expects him to actually do _something_.

But Tony has no fucking idea what that _something_ is.

He chokes on a laugh. "Hey. How are my girls?"

Zoe doesn't take her eyes off Riley. "Grounded until next summer."

Riley's shoulders hitch, but she remains silent.

Tony stands there for a long time, waiting for someone else to make a move, waiting for one of them to tell him what the hell is going on, waiting for one of them to tell him what the fuck he is supposed to do. He feels like this should be some well-rehearsed dance where he and Zoe know exactly what the other is thinking. He suspects it's supposed to be a lot like the ones he and Gibbs used to do in an NCIS interrogation room. Except here, Tony has two left feet and he thinks he is supposed to be leading.

He licks his lips. "What happened?"

Zoe opens her mouth, but Riley beats her to the punch.

"I didn't do it!" Her voice comes out, shrill and deranged.

When Zoe jabs her finger in Riley's direction, the girl falls silent. Zoe shifts to catch Tony's gaze and the look in her eyes sends a chill down his spine.

"Riley clogged up the toilet with a Barbie," Zoe announces.

Tony scrubs his hand over his face. Phoebe gurgles at him and offers him the Barbie torso that she was busy chewing on. When he takes it, she picks up a Barbie leg and gnaws on it with renewed excitement.

_So Zoe's upset because Riley flushed a Barbie. And here, I thought she did something serious like stealing money from the neighbor or trying to burn the house down._

He can't stop the laugh. "That's it?"

Zoe is instantly on her feet. "What do you mean that's it? We're going to have to call the plumber again because _your daughter_ can't play like a normal kid."

At that moment, Riley bursts into tears and bolts out of the living room. The slamming of her bedroom door cuts through Tony like a gunshot. He flinches and Phoebe bursts into tears.

The anger in Zoe's eyes melts into confusion. "What was that all about?"

Tony shakes his head. "I have no idea."

Heaving a sigh, Zoe sinks back into her chair. She picks up Phoebe and bounces the baby on her knees. In the dim light, she looks a lot like she used to after a long interrogation in Philly: world-weary, exhausted, and far older than her years. She looked the same way when he last saw her, right before he skipped town because he couldn't deal with the fallout from their case gone sideways.

"Look, Spider." The old nickname pulls him out of memories. "I know you like to play good cop, bad cop like we used to on the force. But you need to stop making me look like the bad guy."

Tony sinks to his knees. "But Keates, Riley didn't really do anything that bad."

"Yes, she did. Do you know much it'll cost to get a plumber out here to fix the toilet?" She pushes a breath through her teeth like the weight of the world is too much to bear. "We're still paying off last month's adventure's in seeing what could and couldn't go down the garbage disposal."

He fights the urge to ask whether Barbies and their shoes can go down the disposal.

"Just try to remember that Riley's just a kid. And a different one at that. They're supposed to do stuff like that…" Tony makes a face because he really has no freaking clue "…right?"

Phoebe picks that moment to smack the side of his face with her Barbie leg, then she dissolves into peals of maniacal laughter. He wipes the spit from his cheek and gestures to the baby as though she just proved his point.

Zoe lets out a long sigh before she nods. "I guess you're right. Sometimes I can't help but feel like I might be screwing them up for life."

"I think you're doing a bang-up job, Keates." He kisses her cheek. "And if you screw Riley up, just think of Phoebe as the do-over."

Her smile is fast and fleeting. "I just wish Riley would listen."

"Well if she doesn't, there's always military school." When Zoe's brow furrows like she's actually considering it, he holds up his hands. "Kidding. I was only kidding. Look at how mssed up I am."

She stares at him with earnest and open eyes. "I don't think you turned out all that bad. You're a good man, Spider. A great husband and an even better father."

Sadness worms its way through Tony's heart. Something in his eyes stings and he presses his fingers against them to chase it away. He presses his lips together, willing whatever the hell this feeling is to pass. He hasn't felt this way since the first time his father dropped him off at military school. He doesn't know what it is, but he thinks it might be the way his way of knowing that nothing will ever be the same again.

Zoe smiles. "Do you want to eat dinner? I made your favorite. Meatballs."

When she cups his cheek, he bristles at her touch. "I'm not really hungry right now. Maybe I should rescue Barbie from her watery grave and then, I'll go talk to Riley."

"Yeah, I think she needs some time to cool down." Zoe climbs to her feet. "I'm going to get Phoebe something to eat. She's going to have a meltdown soon."

Phoebe grins toothlessly at Tony. If the baby looks so pleasant before a meltdown, Tony doesn't really want to see her when she goes nuclear.

Zoe kisses the top of his head before she climbs to her feet. Numbly, he watches the two of them disappear into the kitchen.

He wonders what it would be like if he really lived this life, if another man's life were really his, if he got to experience all of the good and all of the bad. He gives Zoe and Phoebe one long, heartbreaking look before he slinks off to find what's left of Barbie in the sewer system.

The tiny bathroom is worse than a linoleum floor is covered by at least an inch of water. The floor mat squishes under Tony's feet on his way to the toilet. A plunger sticks out of the toilet bowl like Zoe gave up half-way through her attempt to unclog it. After he wrestles it free, a Barbie head bobs to the surface to stare at him with dull, lifeless eyes. He fishes her out and throws her in the trash can.

Despite every instinct begging him to call a plumber, he gets to work. Whoever tried to get rid of Barbie did a great job of trying to hide their trail. He pulls dismembered pieces of her plastic body and nearly half of her wardrobe out of the toilet.

By the time he is done, he discovers three torsos, four legs, five arms and two heads. He doesn't bother to count the dresses and the mountain of shoes he rescues too. Nor does he think about how many Barbie pieces he sends to sleep with the fishes when he finally gets the toilet working again.

He pushes to his feet, wipes the sweat from his forehead. At least, he hopes that it's sweat. Considering how soaked he is, it can't all be perspiration. He tries not to think about what else might be all over him and his khakis.

He scoops the plastic pieces into the trashcan and carries the lot to Riley's room.

Tony finds Riley laying on her bed staring at the ceiling. Based on her relaxed posture, he figures that she spends a lot of time contemplating her life within these walls. She looks just like a childhood convict sentenced to a night of hard labor in her room with all of her toys.

When she notices him, she bolts upright. Her doleful eyes and tear-stained cheeks pull at his heart.

Bile bites the back of his tongue, but he presses onward. Because that's what parents do, right?

"Rookie." When the nickname brings tears to her eyes, he switches gears. "Riley, what were you thinking when you flushed Barbie?"

"I told my mom that I didn't do it. If she's just listened to me instead of sending you…" She balls her tiny hands around the cartoon mouse on her comforter.

"Then why don't you tell me what really happened," he says in the voice he usually reserves for victims.

When she stays quiet, he moves over to the bed and sits down next to her. Her entire body bristles, but she doesn't move. And in that moment, he wonders whether she thinks he could be her father or if, to her, he is still just a stranger who showed up in her father's place a few days ago.

Tony hopes—that even for a split second—she believes him that he could be her dad because he wants to know what it feels like. Just once.

She moves away from him. His heart plummets.

He decides to treat her like a hostile witness. "Come on, Riley, I got three vic's and no answers."

"I told you that I didn't do it." Riley jumps to her feet, narrowly missing the trash can full of spare Barbie parts when she paces around the room. "My mom was the one who flushed all of my evidence."

Tony's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"Matty wanted to know what my dad does for a living." Excitement rages across her face like wildfire. "And my dad always says, 'It's better to do something than hear about it.' So I made a crime scene and left clues all over the house. But my mom had to pee before Matty found the evidence." Huffing, she collapses into a pile of stuffed animals. "That is not my fault."

Tony hates to admit that the idea of murder being a children's game intrigues him. Even though Zoe will kick his ass later, he learns forward.

"So who did it?" he asks.

Riley holds up a teddy bear that has bits of ketchup on his paws.

Tony laughs. "I guess Matty was supposed to catch him red-handed, huh?"

She peers up, clearly perplexed. "That's supposed to be blood."

"And his hands are red. Red-handed." When the confusion settles deeper on her face, he shakes his head. Trying to explain a euphemism to Riley is worse than it ever was for Ziva. "Nevermind, Rookie. I think that's a very good idea to teach Matty. Just do your mom a favor and set your fake crime scene up somewhere else, okay? Bad guys like dumpsters just as much as they like the ocean."

Her face lights up. "So I can use the trash can?"

Tony scrubs his hand over his mouth. "Just wait a few weeks before you do that again, okay? Your mom needs some time to calm down."

"I will."

"Promise me."

She smiles sadly. "I promise."

After he stands up, Tony heads over to her pile of stuffed animals. He holds his hand out to help her up. Riley just burrows down in her stuffed animal mountain as though he'll never be able to find her in it.

He forces a grin. "Don't you think we should go join your mom for dinner?"

"I'm not hungry," she whines.

So Tony sinks to the ground next to her. He picks up a stuffed bear that wears what looks to be a homemade set of dress blues with a tiny plastic gun on its hip.

"If we aren't going to eat, what should we do?" he asks.

The only part of Riley visible underneath the mess is her hair. "My dad tells me stories about what it's like to be on the force. His favorite one is about how he met my mom and they locked up dirtbags together."

Tony desperately tries to remember one good story from his time on the Philly PD, but he comes up empty. What seems to have brought about a happy life led to nothing but heart break and wrong decisions in his real life.

_My real life._

For some reason, his memories of his real life seem so far off like a dream he had once.

So he grabs hold of what he can recall, forces his brain to remember where he came from.

He starts back at the beginning with how he joined Gibbs' fantastic team. He tells her about Gibbs and Tim and Ziva, and even Kate. He tells her about Abby and Ducky and Jimmy Palmer. He breaks every single one of Gibbs' rules down for her. He describes Abby's lab in so much detail that it makes her yawn. He explains how their forensics department worked and how the team played off each other's strengths and covered for each other's weaknesses.

He tells her—in as much detail as an eight-year old needs to know—about case after grueling case.

By the time he gets to the part where Ziva became a part of the team, Riley sits on top of her mound of stuffed animals. Her mouth falls open as she hangs on his every word.

There's a quiet knock on the door and Zoe pops her head in. "Are you two eating tonight?"

Tony nods. "Yeah, we were just talking."

When Zoe heads back into the hallway, Tony climbs to his feet. He offers his hand to Riley and she lets him pull her up. She takes the cop bear out of his hands.

"That was a really cool story," she says. "Can you tell it to me again when I go to bed?"

Tony's head bobs on reflex, but he can't find his voice. At that moment, he realizes his entire life is just that: a story. Nothing that makes him who he is took place in this reality. He might as well be lost at sea without a life preserver. He tries to take a breath, but his lungs won't welcome the oxygen.

Riley squeezes his forearm, offers him a sad smile. "Thanks for trying to act like my dad."

Her words hit him like a slap in the face. He bites his lip to stave off the regret in his heart as he follows her into the kitchen. He never thought he could ever want to be a husband, a father, a married working stiff.

But right now, he wants to know what it feels like to be Riley's father. Just once.


	16. Chapter 16

**Saturday, August 8, 2015 – 5:02am – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

The cell phone vibrating on the nightstand rips Tony from a deep sleep. Zoe lets out a little half-snore before she rolls out of his arms. He wipes the exhaustion from his eyes, reaches after the irritating noise.

He answers on the third ring. "DiNozzo."

_"Heya, Big D."_ The sound of Sparr's voice immediately wakes him up.

He bolts upright in bed, squints through the near darkness. The glow from streetlamps filter through the half-closed blinds to flirt with the second-hand pressed wood bedroom suite, the overflowing hamper in the corner, and the piles of folded clothes on the armchair by the window.

Tony presses his free hand to his face. His heart skips a beat and he isn't sure whether it's relief or panic.

_I'm still here. Wherever the hell here is._

_"DiNozzo? Are you there?"_ Anxiety drips from Sparr's every word.

It sets him on edge. Tony half-nods, nods, completely forgetting that she can't see him until he says, "Yeah, Sparr. I'm here. What's going on? Is everything okay?"

_"Somebody put Fisher and the unis in the hospital. It's bad."_ She heaves an uncertain sigh. _"I'm already at Boress' place, but they're already gone. Can you – "_

"On my way."

_"Meet me at the precinct. I'm just about done getting everything wrapped up down here."_

"Are you – "

_"Yeah, I'm fine. And Big D, don't forget that it's your turn to get the coffee."_

After Tony hangs up, he jumps out of bed to pull on the closest pair of pants he can find. Jeans, by the feel of the fabric. He pulls on a t-shirt and runs his hands through his hair. He'll straighten it out later once he finds a mirror, once he figures out what the hell is going on with his case.

Before he leaves, he lingers by Zoe's bedside for a moment. She always looks so peaceful in sleep. He brushes the hair out of her face and kisses her lightly on the cheek. She turns over to stare up at him with heavy, sleep-rimmed eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She props herself up. "Is Andrea okay?"

"She's fine, but…" He holds his breath, not knowing how much he should tell her about their case, how much of the ugly world he should bring into their home. "We got a break in our case. Sparr needs me to meet her at the station."

Zoe beckons him closer. When he sits next to her, she pulls him in for a kiss that sucks his breath away. For one fleeting moment, all of the walls she builds around herself crumble into nothingness and it's just her and him together against the unknown. He lets himself melt into her.

She pulls away. "Stay safe, Spider."

"I always am, Keates." He forces a smile for her in the pitch-dark.

Her fingers linger on his chest. "Whatever's going on out there. Just come home to us."

"I will." He kisses her again as though it proves his point. "I'll see you and the girls soon."

She collapses back against the bed. "If you get home before three, we're going to the park with the McGees for a picnic."

"I'll call if I can't make it."

He thinks she might have nodded, but he can't see anything. So he gives her hand one extra squeeze before she slips through his fingers again.

He collects his badge and cell phone from the nightstand, then retrieves his Glock from its case. When he moves out of the room, he swears that he hears Zoe whisper, _I love you_. His heart twists. When he looks back, she is sound asleep with her dark hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo. He closes the door behind him, rests his head against the cold, solid wood. It steals his breath away.

He sighs. "I think I might love you too, Keates."

On his way out, Tony pauses by the front door to pull on his sneakers. He plucks a suit jacket off the coat rack and slings it on. Even though he doesn't need it, he figures dressing up might make him look a little more polished, a little more professional, and a hell of a lot more normal.

But he regrets it the moment he gets outside. The air is already thick and soupy, heady with the threat of another scorcher. Overhead, the stars struggle to find their way through the clouds to remind the world below that they exist. The moon dips closer to the trees, ready to sleep the day away.

Tony hops into the van, pumps the air conditioner to full blast, and points it in the direction of station. Half-way there, he stops to pick up a pair of coffees. One is blacker than the depths of hell and the other has so much cream and sugar that the barista jokes it might be as well be a milkshake. Tony tells himself that Sparr looks like the kind of person who takes her coffee just like Gibbs does.

When Tony pulls into the police station's garage, Tim's Audi is still in its corner, unmoved and untouched since last night. Tony scrubs his hand over his face, frowns. Tim must've pulled an all-nighter. As he climbs out of van, Tony quickly checks his watch. If Tim's luck is still the same here as it was back home, he usually didn't find anything until right after the sun comes up.

_And dawn is at least an hour away._

Tony takes the elevator up to the squad room floor, heads straight for Sparr's desk. Of course, she is nowhere to be found. So he leaves her coffee smack dab between the mouse and the keyboard, in its usual place of honor like an offering to G-d. When he remembers it's the same spot that he leaves Gibbs' coffee, Tony fights the sad smile that rises to his lips.

He retreats to his own cubicle to wait for Sparr.

Tony finds Dr. Hibbard's autopsy report as well as a few stray pieces of bagged evidence on his desk. He sifts through them: bullet dug out of John Doe's brain, two receipts for bagels at place Tony has never heard of, and a hunter green key inscribed with the numbers _0923._ Unsure what they mean just yet, he puts them aside to skim the autopsy report.

Unfortunately, the only new information he gleans is that John Doe was left to rot in the subway tunnel for six weeks and that he had pollen on his clothes from a flower that grows on the banks of the Anacostia. Oh, and that Hibbard had no idea who is locked in his cabinet because John Doe has a different blood type than Elijah Boress.

_How could I forget that we have no idea who the fuck Elijah Boress is either. And is he even important to our case? Or is he just another ghost?_

Sighing, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.

Without any solid leads or even an ID on their victim, Tony knows that his and Sparr's case will turn ice cold soon. And with a bunch of officer in the hospital, all available manpower would be diverted to hunting down the bastards responsible. Who would really care about a homeless man—and all of the new evidence pointed to a vagabond—that got gunned down in a drug deal gone wrong?

Tony climbs to his feet, paces around his tiny cubicle.

There has to more to it than that. Not due of the overwhelming amount of tangible evidence, but because his gut is screaming that he and Sparr just need a lead. A real lead. A fucking good lead. They just need something, anything that they can run down and rip the city apart. Then they'll be able to blow the case wide open. They'll be able to figure out who the hell John Doe is and why someone wanted him dead.

A little part of Tony can't help but wonder if this might be the key to send him back to his own life too. Why couldn't the universe send him a screw ball where he has to solve a case to leave this mixed up place? Like he doesn't do that back home every day. But right now, he has nothing to grasp but straws. And this one might just be the shortest one yet.

Making a face at himself, Tony checks his watch. It's nowhere near sunrise, but he might as well check in with Tim. Hopefully, the computer geek has something by now.

_I need you, Probie Wan Kenobi. You are my only hope._

He sends Sparr a quick text to let her know that he'll be with Tim. Then he collects his cold, diabetes-inducing coffee and his bags of evidence. He probably shouldn't bring them, but he figures that it can't hurt on the off-chance that he might have some sort of epiphany. While he would never dream of investigating by prayers for divine intervention back home, he'll take whatever he can get it here.

No inspirational bolts of lightning hit him on the short walk to the forensics department, nor does he hear G-d whisper the secrets of the universe into his ear. Instead, only the sounds of computers whirring and someone quietly snoring keep him company as he draws closer to Tim's office.

Tony doesn't bother to knock on the half-open door, just slips inside.

Tim is dead to the world, sleeping in his desk chair with his feet propped up on his desk. His head dips against his chest and jerks with every hitched breath. Behind him, the huge wall of computer monitors flash to show the end of a search or a decryption or a program or who the fuck knows what. Whatever the hell it is, Tony is pretty certain that it's well above the level at which his brain functions.

The prospect of a lead leaves Tony salivating as he sneaks closer.

Tim still doesn't move as Tony watches the younger man sleep. He fights the urge to sweep Tim's feet off the desk, shake the chair like they're having an earthquake, or give his neighbor a wet willie. Back home, it's so natural to harass Tim. But here, it's so…Tony doesn't know exactly how it feels, but decides against it. He decides to just tap Tim's shoulder until he wakes.

But when Tony places the coffee on the desk, Tim bucks out of his chair. He rips the pen out of his pocket, holds it out like a sword. His grasp wavers when he notices Tony.

Laughing, Tony taps his finger on his Glock. "Fat load of good that'll do you, Tim."

"Tony? What the heck are you doing here?" Tim rubs his hands against his eyes. "And what time is it?"

Tony checks his watch. "Almost seven. It looks like you've been asleep for a while."

"I think I caught a couple of hours." He looks back to his computer. "I forgot to set the alarm to go off when my program finished."

When Tim blinks owlishly, Tony pushes the coffee cup towards him. "You could probably use the caffeine."

Tim takes a swig, then coughs back into the cup. "Holy crap. How much cream and sugar are in there?"

"Enough," Tony says.

"To kill someone…"

Tim eyes the cup as though he can't decide whether the caffeine infusion is worth the impending death. Eventually deciding that he'll take his chances, Tim retches into another sip. The sounds of his gags bring a smile to Toy's lips. For a half-second, it really is like being back home in the bullpen.

To chase away the useless nostalgia, Tony examines at the trio of computer monitors that take up the back wall of Tim's office. Open documents are a jumbled mess across the screens. Most of them are finally in English, but, as far as Tony can tell, they might be cooking recipes. He tilts his head, suddenly wishing he'd kept the coffee that he left for Sparr.

"Did you find something?" Tony asks.

"Yes and no." The reply makes Tony's eyelid twitch. Tim grins. "It looks like my program got the bulk of the documents decrypted, but I haven't analyzed the data yet. If you want to stick around, I can go through some of it to give you an idea of what we've got."

Tony holds his hand out to say, _Have at it._

"Right," Tim says.

He pulls a wireless keyboard onto his lap and swivels his chair towards the monitor wall. From Tony's place on the other side of the desk, his friend looks like a Bond villain about to blow up the world. Tony moves to Tim's side, just in case his neighbor has a nuke at the ready. He wonders how Tim would look bald and stroking a Persian cat.

_You've got a long way to be Dr. No, McGoo. You're more of a Dr. Evil from Austin Powers._

As Tim types frenetically at his keyboard, images fly across the screens so fast that Tony's head spins. Just as Tony is about to grab Tim's shoulder and shake the results out of him, his friend stops dead.

"Huh," Tim says. "That makes no sense."

Tony squints at the screen. "What are I looking at?"

"MRE recipes," Tim explains. "Both are for Southwest Style Beef. The one on the left is from the jump drive in your John Doe and the one on the right is the official army recipe. You'll never believe how I found that. I just pulled that out of…"

Tony decides that saying, _Your ass,_ and blocks out the rest of Tim's techno-babble as he studies the information on the screen. While the list ingredients for both recipes are mundane, they are both completely different. When Tony jabs his finger at one ingredient in particular, Tim lets out a yelp.

"Don't touch that, Tony! That LCD screen is – "

Tony steps back, crosses his arms. "Who the hell puts turkey in a beef recipe?"

Shrugging, Tim sinks into his chair. "Beats me."

Tony bets that Delilah does. But knowing what he does about her cooking so far, it would probably be some sort of meat-style tofu byproduct. He shudders.

"So that's what was on the drive? Recipes?" Tony asks.

Tim clicks through more windows on the computer screen. "Looks like it. There are 64 in all, but only a handful are ones that I recognize as military issue. I'd have to cross reference all of them to determine the ones that aren't."

"Do it." Tony turns to leaves, ready to hunt Sparr down. "Is that everything from the drive?"

Biting his lower lip, Tim moves back to his desk computer. His mouse clicks so many times that Tony's skin crawls. After several long—and agonizing—moments, Tim shakes his head.

"There are still two more documents that I couldn't decrypt. I'm going to have to see if I have any programs that can crack it."

"And if not?"

Tim swigs the deathly sweet coffee. "It's going to be a long day."

Tony half-nods. "Thanks."

"That's part of the job." Tim chuckles. "Have you and Sparr got a working theory yet?"

"Yeah, we're thinking our John Doe was trying to win a government contract for new MREs and someone in the army killed him to keep the cash."

Tim's mouth gapes. "You're kidding."

"Of course, I am." Tony offers him a lopsided smile. "You know how Sparr comes up with a half-baked theory to keep her going until she gets something solid."

Tony hopes that his guess at Sparr's haphazard style of police work is correct because he has no freaking clue. When Tim bobs his head like he's just going along with it, Tony's grin broadens.

"Thanks for the work, Tim," Tony heads for the door. "I think I should – "

"Hey, Tony," Tim calls, "I forgot that Hibbard stopped by earlier with a file for you."

As soon as he sees the file in Tim's hand, Tony's heart jumps into his throat. He would recognize the navy scrolls and the NCIS seal anywhere. He takes the file from Tim's hands, his fingers delicately caressing the frigid paper. It warms under his touch like a long-lost lover and he wishes he could share her embrace again.

After sinking into a chair, Tony flips it open. He immediately recognizes Ducky's careful, European-style script on the report page and Jimmy Palmer's barely legible chicken-scratch over the clinical findings.

_Jackson Mulroney's autopsy report._

Tony swallows hard, massages the back of his head. Somewhere in some reality, Gibbs is smacking the shit out of his brain for this misstep.

_Rule 18, Boss. You taught me that._

Tim leans forward. "How did Hibbard get his hands on an official Navy autopsy report?"

Tony ignores him to skim the details of the report. They're oddly similar to Hibbard's. Jackson Mulroney was dead thanks to a bullet between the eyes and being left to rot in the subway tunnel for six weeks. Jackson Mulroney had the body of a god with the rotten insides of an old man, but one thing grabs Tony's attention. Explosive residue underneath his fingernails.

Tim leans forward. "Tony?"

Tony shakes his head. "I have no idea, Tim. But I think you're better off pretending that you didn't see the file. Can you do that?"

"I officially know nothing." Tim pulls his hands across his face like he pulls a Jedi mind trick.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Tim picks up the bagged evidence that Tony placed on his desk earlier. "Don't forget the rest of your stuff."

After he hands almost everything to Tony, Tim keeps the hunter green key. He turns it over, studying it. From the look on his face, Tony suspects that Tim recognizes it.

"Do you know where it came from?" Tony asks.

"Yeah. At least, I think I do. It could be from a Metro train locker at the Silver Spring station. Years ago, I used to store stuff in them on my way to work after I would…" Tim clears his throat, drops his gaze to the floor.

"Get laid?"

Tim's ears go crimson before the blush creeps across his face. Tony grins at him as though to say, _Attaboy._ When Tim fumbles with the sleeve of his button-down shirt, Tony quickly regains his composure.

"Thanks for the lead," Tony says. "I'm going to go tell Sparr _everything_."

Tim just half-nods before he attacks his computer with renewed vigor. Still grinning to himself at the prospect that Tim was a McCassanova before he became a married man, Tony heads for the door. He doesn't even make it to the hallway before his cell phone vibrates.

He answers. "DiNozzo."

_"Hey Big D."_ There's a smile in Sparr's voice. _"I'm on my way in. Just had to stop by the hospital to make sure Fisher and the boys were okay."_

"How are they?"

_"Got their panties in a bunch over getting jumped. Fisher's got a broken arm and a concussion. The rest of them have bumps and bruises, you know how it goes. They're a bunch of drama queens, acted like they were dying over getting beaten up."_

Tony nods. "I'm glad to hear they're all okay. I bet they're pissed they didn't see it coming."

_"Yeah, no one with a badge likes to admit that a suspect got the drop on them."_

"You might have to be nice to them for once."

_"Fat chance with that lot."_ She scoffs. " _L_ _isten, DiNozzo, someone tossed Boress' place after they took down our guys. I have no idea what they're looking for, but I think it's safe to assume they probably didn't find it since we didn't either. Did your buddy get something yet?"_

Tony glances at Tim, who's hunched over his computer. "He found – "

_"Give me a sec, Big D. I've got someone else calling."_

Before he has a chance to tell her to wait, she clicks off the line. He makes a face at the annoying beep that resonates through the ear piece. When Tim looks up from his computer, he shoots Tony a thumbs up. Tony's expression sours even further as he offers one back.

Sparr's shrill and angry voice suddenly explodes from the receiver. _"Why in the hell did John Hibbard just call me to set up a date? What the hell did you do, DiNozzo?"_

Tony covers his face with his free hand. "Look, Sparr, I had no other choice – "

_"No other choice?_ " When she actually growls, Tony cringes. " _You told that creep that I'd go out with him because you have nothing better to do than fuck with my love life? What the hell were you thinking?"_

"I needed to get a copy of an autopsy from – "

_"That's Hibbard's fucking job, DiNozzo. He cuts up dead people and tells us why they're dead. You've…"_

Tony holds the phone away from his ear, lets her rant until she grows quiet. Tim's eyes surreptitiously jump between his computer monitor and Tony being bitched out by his partner. Knowing that he won't get anywhere until she actually calms down, he takes a deep breath.

He holds the phone to his ear. "Hey Sparr, I'm going through a tunnel. I'm about to lose reception, so I better – "

_"You're a dead man, Tony DiNozzo."_

With a half-hearted smile, he ends the call and slips the phone into his pocket.

Tim makes a face. "That sounded like it went well."

"Oh yeah, it was fan-fucking-tastic." He forces a broader smile. "You know that Sparr isn't really human until she's had her coffee."

Nodding unconvinced, Tim begins typing again. "I'm sure that's it."

Pressing his lips together, Tony starts to leave. But he can't bring himself to move.

He debates about running down the lead at the Silver Spring station or waiting for Sparr to hand-deliver him to the morgue. Self-preservation eventually gets the better of him and he chooses to get the hell out of the station. At best, he'll get a break in the case and Sparr will spare his life. And at worst, he'll put off his execution for a few hours.

"Hey, Tim." Holding up the key, Tony turns around. "How do you feel about a field trip?"


	17. Chapter 17

 

**8:12am – Silver Spring Metro Station – Silver Spring, MD –**

Even in the clear rays of the early morning sun, the Silver Spring Metro station still looks particularly cold. Its squat, concrete exterior and geometrically patterned awning remind Tony of a federal prison—and even more so, the places where he did hard time: military school numbers four, five and seven.

Tony follows Tim through the grimy windowed, double doors.

As soon as they're inside, he plucks the Aviators from his face and frowns. The lobby is nothing more than a postage stamped sized space with a ticket kiosk slapped together with paneled wood and Plexiglass. An air conditioner pokes out of the back of the kiosk, blasting more hot air into the already insufferable space. Inside, a short man with more hair on his face than his head guards the space like he's trying out to be the gatekeeper in the next _Ghostbusters._ Tony would have much rather been staring at Sigourney Weaver-or hell, even Rick Moranis-than this guy.

Tony flashes his badge. The ticket seller bobs his head to let them take the stairs up to the tracks, but doesn't bother to leaving his refrigerated cocoon to ensure that they don't take a free trip to New Jersey.

_Not that anyone would want to go to New Jersey anyway, even if the trip were free._

Tim takes the stairs two at a time while Tony struggles to catch his breath in the oppressive heat. By the time they reach the elevated tracks, Tony is hugging his knees and begging the weather for mercy.

Bounding ahead, Tim glances over his shoulder. "The lockers should be just up ahead."

Tony waves him onward, tells Tim that he'll be right there, tells Tim that it's okay to leave him for dead.

With a distracted shrug, Tim disappears around a corner. As Tony trails him, an elderly woman dressed in ripped jeans and a sweat-stained tee-shirt shoots him a toothless grin.

She holds out a filthy, dirt-smeared rag. "You might need it more than me, pretty boy. It's mighty hot in here today and you look like you're about to pass out. It's all yours for a buck."

"Don't need it." Tony forces a grin. "I'm fine."

She gives a drunken belly laugh. "You look like shit."

He doesn't tell her that he feels like it too. The station seems to just catches the sun's rays and blasts them back at its unwitting occupants like a brick-lined pizza oven.

Gritting his teeth, Tony shucks off his jacket and rushes to catch up with Tim. When he finally gets around that damned corner, Tim is nowhere to be found. Making a face, Tony can't believe he just lost his coworker in a train station that's so small that it doesn't even have a coffee shop.

He lets himself get lost in the twisting hallways of the Metro stop. He passes the old homeless woman one…two…. _three_ times and each time, he tells her that he doesn't want to buy her freaking rag. Just when he's about to give up, he stumbles on a small patch of stairs right by the southbound train track that he didn't notice on his first, second, _or_ _third_ walk-by.

On the first step, the metal screams underneath his weight. Tony grips the railing for dear life, just in case the stairs decide they can't be bothered to hold him up anymore.

Since this is the only place in the station he hasn't checked, Tim just has to be down there. Whatever the hell there could be. Maybe a basement or an abandoned track or…whatever it is, Tony decides that it would be a great place to stash a body. His hand reaches for his Glock. It radiates its heat back at him as though it wanted to repel his touch.

_I never thought I could miss my Sig._

The air grows colder and heavier the deeper he goes. He takes a long breath, almost drinking the cool air with relief. By the time he hits the bottom, he is freezing. Vomit yellow cinderblocks line the walls while rough concrete scrapes against his shoes. A few bare light bulbs hang overhead, buried deep within exposed pipes and wires.

Something kicks on with a loud _whoosh._

Tony nearly jumps out of his skin. He unholsters his Glock as he slinks along the wall.

"Tim?" he calls. "Where are you, buddy?"

His only response is the sound of dripping water.

Tony doubles down on the grip on his gun as he follows the tunnel deeper into the bowels of the station. Whatever happened to Tim couldn't have been good. For a split-second, his mind goes wild. He imagines that someone might've taken Tim hostage. Or worse yet, maybe that deranged homeless lady left Tim bleeding out on the floor because Tony didn't buy her fucking rag.

No, no. Tony can't think about that.

He picks up the pace.

The hair on the back of his neck stands at attention as he reaches the end of the tunnel. It takes a hard left into nothingness. On the other side could be anything: another tunnel, storage, that crazy lady and her shitty rag. But no matter what's on the other side, Tim has to be there too.

Tony leans up against the wall. Holding his breath, he sneaks a peek around the corner to find what looks like the station's junkyard. Piles of bikes and commuter seating mixed with pieces of track and ceiling shingles take up most of the space.

On the far wall—just past the ghosts of subway stations past—there is a huge set of hunter green lockers. Tim stands in front of them, precariously perched on an old table and a three-foot tall bust of Ronald Regan as he stretches to reach one of the topmost lockers.

Tony slinks into the space, just to make sure they're alone.

Then he holsters his gun and clears his throat.

Tim reels backwards like someone just shot him. When he starts to lose his balance, Tony dives to catch him. He just ends up face-planting Tim against the lockers on his way down. Stunned, Tim lays on the floor for a moment before he grins up at Tony.

"Glad you finally caught him," he says.

Tony helps him up. "How the hell did you even find this place?"

"I talked to Larry," Tim says as though it explains everything.

Tony mutely watches as Tim climbs back onto the ex-president's head to gain access the storage locker. He racks his brain, searching for a connection, searching for something to a _Larry_ so he could make sense of this moment. Tony comes up empty.

He presses his lips together. "I give up. Who's Larry?"

"The ticket attendant downstairs. The old lockers weren't by the southbound tracks anymore. So I asked Larry where they went and – " Tim steadies himself against the lockers, holds his free hand up as though to say _Ta-Da_ " – here they are."

"Ah." Tony puts his hands on his hips. "How did you get past me anyway?"

"You were interviewing that homeless lady and I didn't want to interrupt in case I spooked her."

Tony stares at the back of Tim's white button down shirt and wonders how the hell the computer geek could ever manage to spook anyone. In this world, Tim is about as intimidating as a bowl of Jell-O.

Tony quirks a smile.

He almost hates to admit that he likes that fact. Almost.

While Tony is lost in thought, Tim wrenches the door to the locker up. He pulls on a pair of latex gloves—Tony has no idea who the hell he stole them from—and reaches in to rifle though the contents. Tony's heart jumps into his throat as he takes a step forward.

"Tim." Tony's voice jumps an octave. "The chain of evidence. You just – "

"Already one step ahead of you, Tony." Tim waves his hand over his shoulder as though it could actually assuage Tony's paranoia. "I took pictures on my phone of the locker and took a preliminary set of photos of the contents in their current state. I figured you could catalog them once we figured out what we have. Then I'll send them all to your partner."

Tony takes a deep breath, lets himself relax. "What about fingerprints?"

"Who knows how many people have touched the locker? I doubt we'd be able to get anything useful."

"Alright, fine. I'll give you a pass this time, Tim. But in the future, leave the detecting to the detectives."

As Tony pulls on his own gloves and sidles by Tim's side, his neighbor looks down with a grin. "Is that the technical term for what you do? Detecting?"

"Well, that's what Sparr like to think we do." Not wanting to disgrace an outstanding—in his opinion—American president, Tony finds a wobbly chair to stand on. He supports himself against the lockers. "What have we got, McGee?"

Tim turns to stare at him, slack-jawed. "Did you just call me by my last name?"

"Nope. I called you Tim. Just like always." Tony manages a suave smile as he changes the subject. "So what'd we find in the locker? Pay dirt?"

"I think Sparr's theory of a rogue chef trying to get a Navy deal for MREs is becoming more plausible," Tim says as he pulls out a fistful of empty, silver MRE wrappers. "And there's more where that came from."

Making a face, Tony takes the proffered wrappers. He flips through them and each one has the same words on the front. _Chicken Penne._ But the typeface is italicized and raised, nothing like the the ones that he and Sparr turned up at the house of Elijah Boress or John Doe—or whatever the hell their dead guy's name is. He crumples one of the wrappers in his hands and it crunches in his fingers like aluminum foil.

_Why would they need different packaging if they're trying to launch an MRE line for foodies?_

Tim tilts his head. "Is everything okay, Tony?"

"Yeah," he replies, deciding not to drag his friend any deeper into this fiasco than he already is. "What else is in there?"

Sighing like he's been left in the dark yet again, Tim disappears into the locker. "More than enough wrappers to feed a platoon, some expired cans of tuna, and a box of broken pens. Why do you think someone would store all that stuff in here for so long?"

"I don't know, but – " Tony half-climbs, half-stumbles off the chair " – I'm going to call Sparr."

Tim doesn't look up from his work as he pulls out his phone. He dutifully begins photographing the contents of the locker while Tony pulls out his cell. He hits Sparr's number on the speed dial and holds his breath.

She answers on the first ring. _"This is Sparr."_

"Hey," he says as friendly as possible, "I just – "

_"Look, DiNozzo, if you think I'm just going to – "_

"I caught a lead, Sparr. A good one."

She waits a beat to let him squirm. And he does. _"I'm listening."_

"Meet me…" he surveys the storage locker and decides that it's a good place to dump a body "Scratch that. Come to the Silver Spring Metro Station. Tim McGee will meet you there to transfer the evidence. I'll text you the details."

Before she has a chance to reply, he hangs up. He fires off a text that explains where she'll find Tim and the lockers. He doesn't tell her what they found because he knows the suspense of a good lead will get her here quicker.

She sends him a simple reply: _Your ass is still grass._

He rolls his eyes.

Tim glances over his shoulder. "How's Sparr doing? Is she still working that not-suicide?"

"How did you know about that?"

Tim half-shrugs. "She asked me to run a deep background check on your victim. I was surprised that she came to me for something like that."

Tony turns away. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary."

Putting his hand on his hips, Tony nods slowly. He watches Tim work, wondering why Sparr would go to him with a lead as opposed to Tony. Or hell, as opposed to doing it herself. He eventually settles on the theory that maybe, just maybe Sparr was sizing Tim up, seeing whether he might be a threat to hers and Tony's partnership. And he doesn't have a clue what conclusion she might have reached.

_Maybe she's jealous that they haven't been working together as much as we used to? But then again, how much time did we spend together while working cases?_

_Or maybe she's mad about how much time I spend with Tim._

_Or she might just really, really hates Hibbard._

Tony scrubs his chin.

_G-damn, women are confusing. My next partner will be a guy. A really, really macho one who likes football and crushing beer cans on his head over the weekends._

Tony begs Tim to transfer the evidence to Sparr in his place. Tony pleads his case with Tim, tells him that he's a dead man if he stays here, that he's far too good-looking to die, that he can't bear to leave his children fatherless. Tim's features pinch in annoyance, but he agrees anyway.

Leaving Tim to document their evidence, Tony retraces his steps through the mid-morning heat to the van. He pumps up the air conditioner on full blast as he stares out at the hazy asphalt and the sleepy travelers traipsing towards the Metro station.

When Sparr doesn't show up right away, Tony fiddles with his cell phone.

He has a few games—with rather impressive high scores on Candy Crush and Angry Birds—and thousands of unread e-mails, but it's the pictures that catch his attention. On the edge of his seat, he scrolls through the everyday images of the life that he never got to live.

He watches Phoebe grow in reverse before his eyes from the smiling, pudgy baby that she is today to a tiny, skinny newborn. Photos of Riley and Zoe are interspersed between those of Phoebe. Riley looks miserable in a ballet tutu and make-up for what might've been a dance recital and one of her in a dress at what looks to be Phoebe's confirmation.

There are others—lots, actually—where she is truly smiling. There are tons of photos of her grinning like the Cheshire cat in the backyard, at what might be her school, and around the house. He can't help but smile at the one of her making a stupid face with her arm slung around Matty's shoulders and Tim lurking in the background. Then it's her buried underneath a pile of snow and one of her and Tony, all bundled up against the cold and their cheeks bright red.

But the one that makes his heart twist is the one from what must have been Phoebe's birth where a version of himself holds a tiny, pink bundle to his chest with a grin that he's never seen before. Riley has her arms around his waist, but it's her smile that takes his breath away. It's identical to his. He touches his screen as though it could download the memory through his fingertips. He wishes he could he have felt whatever the man in this photo felt.

He doesn't know how long he stares at the picture, studying each and every detail as though it could make everything real for him.

Suddenly, the passenger door opens and Tim slips into the car.

Tony tucks his phone away, blinks the extra moisture from his eyes away. Extra moisture, that's exactly what it is. He reminds himself that grown men, cops, and DiNozzos—all of which, he is—don't cry. Yeah, extra moisture sounds just perfect.

"I don't see why you're so afraid of Andrea," Tim says conversationally. "She was really nice when she picked up the evidence."

"It's a long story, but – " Tony lets out a deranged laugh " – I don't think she'd have any problem killing me and convincing the brass not to investigate."

Tim relaxes in the seat. "You could try apologizing."

"Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness," Tony says on reflex. When Tim stops in the midst of fastening his seatbelt, he continues: "Rule six."

Tim recovers first. "How did you know about that?"

Tony glances out the window, searches for an assault or grand theft auto to stop. He isn't that lucky. "I think I heard some old guy say it a crime scene."

"You must've met my former boss from NCIS, Agent Gibbs." Tony flinches, but Tim doesn't notice. "He used say that all the time. I always thought it was a stupid rule."

"Yeah, you're right." Tony cracks a grin, then changes the subject. "Did Sparr find anything else after she cleaned out the locker?"

"Just a card for a restaurant supply story in Alexandria. Funny thing is that whomever had the locker was supposed to have a meeting with someone there on Tuesday. Still think Andrea's theory about a rogue chef is stupid?"

"Not if our John Doe was buying pots and pans."

Tim blinks. "Who knows what he was buying? Andrea said she probably wouldn't get to run down the lead until Monday after regular forensics gets through the evidence. She said something big came up with your suicide."

Tony starts out of the car. "I should probably go – "

"I wouldn't." Tim licks his lips when Tony turns back. "I was kidding earlier when I said she was nice. She nearly bit my head off when I tried to explain everything to her. She told me to tell you that – " his cheeks flush " – you're still on her shit list. And now, I am too since I'm your sidekick. What the hell did you do to her anyway?"

Tony decides now isn't the time to tell Tim that he pimped out his last partner. Instead, he fires up the van and tries to ignore his heart dropping into his stomach. So that's it, he's stuck in this weird, backwards world. And the worst part is the doesn't know how he feels about it.

"Great," he says quietly, "our case is going to go cold. It's over."

A calculating—bordering on evil—smile takes over Tim's gentle face. "I wouldn't say that yet."

"You didn't steal the business card." Tony eyes his neighbor. "Did you?"

"Not quite. I took a picture of it." Tim checks his watch. "We still have a few hours until we have to meet Delilah and Zoe at the park." He purses his lips, considering. "But just think about it, Tony. Do you really want to go behind Andrea's back?"

"Just tell me where to go, Tim. I can handle Sparr." Tony puts the car in gear and swallows hard. "…I hope."


	18. Chapter 18

**1:31pm – Spic 'N Span Pots and Pans – 7815 N. Patrick Henry St., Alexandria, Va. –**

Tony expects the restaurant supply store that their John Doe might have frequented to be a back room in a seedy bar and code for a drug running operation. What he finds is a culinary superstore that rivals the Walmart across the street. On the shelves inside, pots and pans of differing sizes stand at attention like good little soldiers, ready to wage wars on the leagues of pancakes and cheese fries.

Tony grabs a pot at random.

"What's that for?" Tim asks.

"Just a present for Zoe." He grins. "Maybe she can take it as a hint to make me a steak, huh?"

"You know that's a stock pot, right?" Tony blinks slowly, stares at the industrial sized pot in his hand. "That's for making soup and pasta. Or as Delilah likes to use it , for cooking lentils." Tim shudders.

"I knew that. Maybe Zoe'll make me some steak soup."

Tim rolls his eyes, then glances at something down the aisle. "Don't forget to share. Just think about all those times I brought you breakfast."

Tony cocks his head. Tim probably deserves a bullet rather than leftovers for Delilah's crimes against breakfast food.

Eventually, Tony smiles. "No problem. I'll make sure you get something."

"Thanks. I'll pick up the tab for the doughnuts next time."

Chuckling to himself, Tony leads the way to the back of the store. They take the long way, tracing up and down every aisle just in case the kitchen store isn't quite what it seems. Not a single soul can be bothered to spend a summer's day in the store. By the time Tim and Tony done, they learn that the only item out of the ordinary for a culinary store's inventory is turkey jerky.

Tim grabs a package, but hunger gets the better of him before they reach the registers. The reek of over spiced poultry and chemicals waft out of the bag. Tim pops a piece into his mouth, then offers it to Tony. Tony waves the shit away.

Tim shrugs. "Suit yourself."

When Tony heads to check out, the gaunt and gnarled man behind the register sighs like the job pains his very existence. His too baggy clothes hang off his frame as though they're still on the hanger. On his vest, a nametag reads, _Darryl._ He creaks his way through ringing up Tony's stock pot and barely manages to get Tim to surrender his jerky long enough for check out.

Tony doesn't have any cash, so he pays with a credit card.

After they're done, Tony leans toward Darryl. "Hey man. We're still on for Tuesday, right?"

He glances around, seeming to make sure the store is empty. Then he drops the bomb that Tony never gets tired of hearing: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tony makes a face. He doesn't have time for this, they never do. So he flashes his badge. He starts to identify himself as _Very Special Agent DiNozzo_ before the name catches on his tongue. It burns like acid.

He closes his eyes, composes himself. Somewhere behind him, Tim is munching on jerky and fiddling with the inventory.

"Detective DiNozzo, Metro PD and my buddy over there with the meat is Mr. McGee, forensics consultant." Tim offers a cheeky grin with jerky-stained teeth. "We're investigating a homicide."

Darryl flinches. "Who?"

Tony shrugs as he pulls out a photo of John Doe's corpse. "Maybe you could tell me."

Sticking his tongue between his rotten teeth, Darryl leans forward. "No idea. Never seen him before."

_Of course._

Tony fights the urge to keep it professional, fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"We think he was supposed to be meeting someone here on Tuesday morning. Can you tell me that that is?"

"Nothing's happening on Tuesday. We open at – "

"I think you know exactly what's going on." When Darryl stays quiet and looks away, Tony adds: "If I found out that you're lying, I can have you charged with obstruction. That's a felony with jail time." Tony sizes Darryl up. "The other inmates would eat you alive."

Darryl looks like he might pass out and Tony won't be the one to catch him. For several long moments, they stare locked into an unwinnable battle. Tim stops snacking long enough to watch the confrontation.

Darryl's shoulders finally slump. "There's a guy who comes in here every few months. Acts like he owns the place and takes over the manager's office. The owner just said to do what he asks." He hugs his arms to his chest as though he could fold into himself. "I think he's connected, but we never talk about him. Never allowed to talk about him. Just do what he says."

"Can you give me a name?"

"I want protection." Darryl nods, says surer this time: "I need protection."

Tony nods. "I'll see what I can do."

"Eli something. I think it sounded like Bore-ass."

"Do you mean Elijah Boress?" Tony asks.

Darryl half-nods as he looks away. "That's it."

"Can you tell me what he looks like?"

"Tall. Big-ass white guy built like a linebacker."

Tony pulls out his cell phone, ready to call in the lead. "Would you be willing to sit with a sketch artist?"

Darryl's cheeks blanch. "I never saw his face."

Tony blinks. "Never?"

"Not even once." Darryl offers a conciliatory, rotten-toothed grin. "Sorry."

Stepping forward, Tim points towards a video camera. "What about surveillance?"

"Just for show," Darryl says. "No one really wants to steal half-sheet pans and spring form cake tins."

Tim's lips press together as his face folds in thought. He pops another piece of jerky in his mouth, grinding it through his teeth while his brain whirrs. Once Tony's certain that his neighbor is finished with his line of questioning, he turns back to the closest thing he has to a lead.

Tony holds him the picture again. "Could this be him?"

Darryl shakes his head. "You're barking up the wrong tree. Bore-ass is blonde."

"Great." He forces a strained smile as he hands the cashier his card. "Thanks for your help, Darryl. We'll see you again on Tuesday."

Tony clenches his teeth hard enough for his jaw to pop. As he turns towards the door, he works his jaw to ease the ache away. So his and Sparr's John Doe is just that, still a John Doe. His last viable lead grew into breadcrumbs that may or may not be important. He does have to hunt down Elijah Boress and figure out what the fuck is going on because that man's name keeps popping up everywhere. But based on what he and Tim uncovered, Sparr's crackpot theory is seeming more likely: their John Doe and Jackson Mulroney were rogue chefs who got whacked by a rival for a government contact.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he chuckles to himself. It's so stupid that it might actually be plausible. He always forgets that civilian cases were so…mundane compared to military crimes.

Just as he reaches the door, Darryl lets out a whoop. "What about my protection?"

"I'll get a car over here before the close of business today," Tony calls with a dismissive wave.

Whether or not he'll actually make the magic happen is debatable. He heads for the van with Tim by his side. Tim drones on about how exciting it was to have something to go on, how they have a freaking lead that will take them to an arrest, how they're unstoppable now. Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him that they still have nothing.

Tony slides into the driver's seat and powers up the engine, but his nerves get the better of him. He doesn't even the door closed.

"I need to text Sparr," he says.

Tim nods. "Take your time."

"Thanks."

As soon as Tony slides back into the oppressive head, the sweat pours down his back. He finds a shady patch that's about a degree cooler than the sun and composes text after text to Sparr. He spills his guts about the Navy autopsy report—which she never found on her desk—pimping her out to Hibbard, how their John Doe is still a John Doe, and how Elijah Boress is at the epicenter of their case.

Her text takes forever to come back: _Take it easy, Big D. All is forgiven. Sounds like our case is going cold. I'm on my way to Philly to follow up a lead on our fake suicide. Why don't you call it a day? We'll pick up again on John Doe tomorrow. It's not like he's getting any deader. Tell Zoe and the girls I said hi._

Tony scrubs his hand across his face. He isn't the kind of cop to let a case go just because it's cold. But here and now, maybe he needs to take a step back. Even though it could be the thing to send him home, even though his John Doe deserves justice, even though he _has_ to solve it like he needs to breathe. Maybe she's right. Maybe he needs some time with his family.

He heads back to the van and slips into the driver's seat. "You'll never guess what Sparr said, Tim."

His only response is a quiet snore. Tim sleeps in the passenger seat with his face smashed up against the window. A hint of a smile raises to Tony's lips. Maybe the quiet will be better for him to have some time to think, to mull, to breathe, to pretend that they're just on a long case and Tim fell asleep.

And to think about whether he still wants that life.

Tony puts the car in gear and lets his friend nap all the way back to Washington. For a moment, he allows himself to believe they're on the way back to NCIS. And for another, he is terrified that they just might be and he's the one passed out in the passenger seat of an agency sedan.

When he stops at a red light, he pulls out his cell phone to stare at the picture of Riley and Phoebe on the home screen. They look so innocent, so perfect, so like him and Zoe.

They look so real.

_All of this is real, just like they are. It has to be._


	19. Chapter 19

**3:11pm – Ronald Regan Community Park, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony is pretty sure that he has visited the park around the corner from his house in a previous life. Just once, he thinks, way back when he first joined Gibbs' team. The team was called out to investigate the body of a young ensign under the candy colored jungle gym. Overdose from heroin cut with rat poison.

_What a way to go out…_

Zoe dips into his line of sight, ripping his focus off the jungle gym where Riley swings upside down like an acrobat. The furrow in her brow deepens as she studies him. She looks far older, far wiser than her years like she can stare straight through his soul.

_Christ, is she beautiful._

He chokes on his own breath. He backpedals, bumps into the stroller where Phoebe is napping.

"Hey Spider," Zoe asks, "is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, great. Absolutely peachy." He clears his throat, checks on Riley again. "Just a little distracted, I guess. I was thinking about the case again. You know how it goes."

She half-nods like it could help her grasp a distant memory. "Tell me about it."

For a long moment, he stares at her as though she might be some hallucination brought about by the heat and lack of water. Then, against his better judgement, he rattles off the details of his and Sparr's latest case. He tells her about the John Doe, his run-in with NCIS, and his fight with Sparr. But he leaves out the part about pimping out his partner to get information about their case. That's a line that he isn't sure he would cross in this life.

Guilt threatens to eat him alive because these worlds—his family and his work—are supposed to be separate, not intertwined like they are back home. Here, his family should be safe and innocuous, unblemished by the filth he deals with every day.

But he's just desperate enough for someone, _anyone_ to understand what's coursing through his head right now. And to his own ears, he sounds a little crazy, a little desperate, and just a bit deranged. Like if he doesn't some this one case it could break his career, destroy his family, end life as he knows it.

And maybe, just maybe it might.

Zoe listens carefully, cautiously, as she continues setting up the picnic table with food. Potato salad, macaroni salad, green salad, and something she calls pretzel salad that is nothing more than pretzels entombed in lime Jell-O.

When he finishes, she looks up with dark eyes that dance in the sunlight.

"You know, Spider. You always were the best investigator that I ever met. If anyone can close this case, it'll be you and Andrea. Make sure you nail the bastards." She tosses him a cheeky grin. "For me."

Like that doesn't add any kindling to the fire, any pressure to the powder keg. Tony sweeps the hair out of her face to peck her forehead, but she kisses him first.

At that moment, a familiar voice says: "Uh oh, it looks like we might be interrupting something. Do you two think we should come back later?"

Tony flinches, readying to take a full step away from Zoe. But she grabs a tight hold on his waist, pulls him back against her side. Sweat pricks to his forehead like he was just caught red-handed when he notices the McGees at the edge of the picnic table.

Tim holds a cooler in one hand while keeping the other protectively on Delilah's shoulder. Sitting in her wheelchair, she balances a few foil trays of what will probably be her culinary adventures on her lap. Matty brings up the rear with a huge cardboard box labeled, _Matty's Rocket Stuff. Don't touch._

"Hey Tim, Matty, and – " Tony cracks his trademark grin " – Wheels."

The moment that the moniker tumbles from his mouth, Tony knows it's a mistake. Everyone grows so quiet that he thinks he might have gotten a better reaction if he had stripped naked and ran around the park. He draws his hand to his mouth as though it could make him take the words back.

But Delilah just laughs. "Long time no see, Bi-Ped."

"Just last week, right?" Tony guesses.

"Yeah, but it's been a long week at work. It makes everything go slower." She rolls towards the table to drop off her food and Tony hopes to hell that she drops it. "You know you guys should come over for dinner some night next week."

Behind her, Tim draws his hand across his throat to warn Tony of an untimely death from soy protein and vegetables. Even Matty shakes his head.

Tony starts to decline, but Zoe beats him to the punch. "We would love to. Just pick a night and let me know what we should bring. So what did you make for us today, Del?"

Like a woman trained in the art of torture, Delilah slowly places her trays one by one on the table. "Kale chips, lentil burgers, carob-zucchini cupcakes with cream cheese icing, and banana bread."

"Wow, I can't wait to dive in," Zoe says, and she sounds like she actually means it.

Tony springs into action. "Let me go get the plates and – "

"Hold your horses, Spider," Zoe says. "The burgers aren't done yet. By the way, it's your week."

Tony's eyelid twitches. "Me? Cook?"

"You always say that you're the grillmaster." Chuckling, Tim puts his hands on his hips and crows in a voice that sounds so much like Tony's: "'No one is the master of the fire like I am.'"

Delilah giggles before she joins in, holding her hands out like she might be their Lord and Savior. " ' No human can make a burger like me. Charred on the outside, bleeding on the inside. ' "

Tony touches his chest. "I said that?"

Delilah nods emphatically. "Three weeks ago. After I made what you referred to as 'hockey pucks.'"

Beside him, Zoe's body quakes with stifled laughter. He pinches her side and she dissolves into a fit of giggles. "You always do get a dramatic when it comes to grilling."

He half-smiles. "Of course, I do." He pinches the bridge of his nose, desperate for a change of subject. "Say Matty, what's in the box?"

"Model rockets, Mr. D. My dad and me spent all last weekend building them, so we can try to launch them into outer space today." He places the box on the ground to display lime green rocket after lime green rocket. "I don't think we'll get out of the troposphere, but my dad said we just might. But I don't think we'll get enough lift."

Tony has no idea what the hell Matty is talking about. "The troposphere, huh? That'd be cool."

"The lowest part of the earth's atmosphere." When Tony still doesn't respond, Matty sighs like no one ever understands him. "Where the clouds live?"

"Ah, it'd be cool if your rocket touched a cloud."

Matty gives Tony a pitying smile. "It couldn't touch a cloud because they're just water vapor. Like a bunch of steam over a boiling pot."

Tony bites his lip. Tim shrugs apologetically and mouths, _Sorry._

"So how are they going to get up here?" Tony asks. Because if there's one thing that he understands, it is firepower and there might just be some gunpowder in rocket engines.

_Maybe it's the same kind they use in bullets…_

"My mom bought me some special engines off the internet." He pulls an envelope with Chinese writing all over it and Tony thinks it might spell out disaster. "Twin turbo booster engines. They promise to get your rockets into the stratosphere, but – " Matty makes a face, drops his voice " – I think they're lying."

While Tony nods like an idiot, Tim and Delilah share the smile of proud parents of a child that's too damn smart for his own good. Tony sneaks a glance at Riley, who's still hanging upside down. At least, she knows how to be a kid…and tie her own shoes.

Zoe pulls a bottle of wine out of the cooler, shows it to Delilah. "Ready to get rid of the week?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Delilah grins as she takes the bottle and a pair of wine glasses onto her lap.

And with that, the two women retreat along with Phoebe and her stroller to a nearby picnic table. Before Tony has a chance to speak to Tim, Matty looks back to his dad with an excited grin.

"Can we go show my rockets to Riley?" he asks.

Tim pats his son's shoulder. "Sure. Hey, grillmaster, do think you'll need any help?"

Tony forces a grin. "Nope, I've got it handled. You three have fun finding the trop and sphere."

"It's troposphere, Mr. D." Matty gives another painstaking sigh. "At least you always get the burgers right."

Tony believes Matty just paid him a compliment, but he isn't really sure what to make of it. Tim just offers Tony another apologetic shrug before he and Matty trudge across the grass towards Riley.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Tony realizes he doesn't know the first thing about how to cook a cheeseburger. But he heads over to the rusted grill anyway. Piles of ashes rest in the bottom of the blackened metal, the remnants of lunches and dinners long forgotten. Grill masters and novice chefs, it doesn't seem to matter, since their food all ends up the same.

He frowns as he checks the station Zoe set up for him: bag of rocks—maybe that's what charcoal looks like?—lighter fluid, pounds of meat already shaped into patties, and a mountain of cheese. To the side, a few tan lumps with green spots lurk innocuously next to the meat.

_Those must be Delilah's. I don't know what the fuck those are, let alone how to cook them._

He grits his teeth, stares out at the park. From here, he has a bird's eyes view of everyone. Perfect for surveillance, perfect to learn how they all interact. So he'll know how he should act.

In the shade of huge oak tree, Zoe and Delilah nurse glasses of wine while Phoebe naps in her stroller. They laugh and talk, heads dipped close together like sisters sharing a secret. Across the park, Tim fights to assemble some complicated apparatus while Matty shows Riley all of his rockets. She kneels beside him, listening with rapt attention.

And his part in all of this? To cook the food.

Tony can't help but smile to himself. Out of all of the options, it should be the easiest, the most mindless, the time to just ruminate.

He sets the grill up like he thinks he's supposed. After all, he has seen this in a movie more than once. He unloads the bag of charcoals into the pile of ashes and tops it off with most of the lighter fluid. Then he throws a match onto the coals. There's a loud _whoosh_ before the grill erupts into a mushroom cloud of flame.

He takes a step back, double-checking that he still has his eyebrows and his hair. Thankfully, everyone is too engrossed in their own little worlds to notice that he's trying to burn down the fucking park.

But he is pretty sure this is how they barbeque in the movies. He stands at arm's length as he throws some of the meat—and Delilah's mystery nonmeat—into the flames like Frisbees. He watches them cook, flips them when he thinks it's time. Then he slams on slice after slice of cheese.

By the time the first set of burgers are done, they're a quarter of the size they were when they started and blacker than the pits of hell. He drops them to the ground, kicks dirt over them. He gives the fire a few minutes to die down before he decides to try again.

Somewhere overhead, there's an explosion.

Instinctively, Tony reaches for his empty hip. His service weapon is locked away in the van's glove compartment.

But when he hears Matty howl, he realizes it's just a victim of a Twin Turbo rocket hitting the edge of the tropo-whatever. There's another pop, followed by another, and still another. Matty makes a noise that sounds like the priest from _The Temple of Doom_ is ripping his heart out. Riley shields her eyes against the sky as she points to an invisible spot in the clouds. Tim looks like he might be sick.

Certain only he can stop the carnage with finished food, Tony throws another set of burgers on the grill. He times these better, flips them as soon as they turn brown, and pulls them the moment the cheese is melted. Once he cooks all of the meat, Tony rescues Delilah's 'burger'—he really, _really_ didn't mean to forget about them in all of the confusion.

After he is done, he buries his coals—and a few of Delilah's burgers that are unfit to eat—with the ashes of barbeques past and calls everyone over.

Within minutes, the table is crowded with DiNozzos and McGees. Zoe takes a place at the head of the table and begins serving her salads. She plops an unhealthy sized scoop of that pretzel salad and kale chips on his plate. Tony's stomach turns when she places it in front of him.

He smiles anyway. "Thanks, honey."

"You're welcome," she says, kissing his head.

Then, ever the perfect hostess, she turns back to ensure that everyone gets something to eat. Matty stares morosely at his plate and mixes all of his salads into one barf-colored mess.

Riley leans over. "Why are you so sad, Matty?"

"My rockets blew up." Matty pushes at the tear that sneaks down his cheek.

"That happens sometimes, Matty," Tim interjects. "We talked about it, remember? Nothing can stay perfect forever."

Matty's lower lip juts out. "I know, but I didn't think it would happen to mine."

Smiling sadly, Tim pats his son's shoulder. "Remember what we always say about science?"

Matty just stabs at his pile of mush.

Riley perks up. "What do you say about science, Mr. McGee?"

"If you're going to push the boundaries of science, prepare to get burned." When she stares at him blankly, Tim explains. "Science isn't an easy subject to master and it's got a lot of failures. If you want to try to do something new, there's a chance that it might not work. Or in the case of rockets, they might blow up from time to time."

"Or you could have a breakthrough that changes everything," Delilah joins in with a smile. "Don't forget that something good can come out of something bad."

Riley's face lights up as she turns towards Matty. "Like Matty's rocket that made it to the moon, right?"

Something that might be pride wells up in Tony's chest. He takes a bite of his burger to avoid adding his two cents. Tim nods, seeming to know exactly what she tries to do.

"Did you hear that Matty?" she goes on. "Your rocket made it to the moon! I saw it go all the way up there. It's probably stuck in the cheese with the Martians – "

"They blew up." Matty slams his fork down. "They all blew up, Riley! They never would've made it to the moon with those little engines. My – "

"But I swear that I saw it. Your rocket went – "

"That's enough, sweetie," Zoe says. "You're upsetting Matty."

"But, Mom - " She draws the name out long and low like a pitiful howl " – it really did go all the way to the moon. I saw it. I swear I did."

Zoe's face drops. "Riley Jean, just please. Let it go."

Tony nearly chokes on his burger at Riley's middle name.

_That was mother's name._

It's so foreign and so familiar at the same time like it just fits into this weird, upside-down world. He gapes at her as though he's seeing her for the first time. That's when he recognizes the way the corners of her mouth turn down into a tiny scowl and the crinkles next to her eyes.

_She looks exactly like my mother used to after a bad day._

When Riley opens her mouth again, Zoe clears her throat like she expects Tony to jump in, to do something, to stop the train wreck that's about to happen.

He reaches to touch Riley's hand. "Come on, Rookie. Maybe we should just forget about the rockets?"

She flinches at his touch, staring down at the table. Her lower lip juts out as she nods. "I was just trying to help."

"I know, Riley." He squeezes her wrist. "I know."

She pulls away from him like he just burned her. He coils his fingers into his palm as he retracts his hand. Mercifully, no one is even paying attention to him.

Out of nowhere, Matty throws his fork on the table and jumps to his feet. He stalks off towards the jungle gym without even looking back. Tim is out of his seat almost instantly and Delilah pushes herself away from the table.

She shakes her head. "I got this one, Tim."

Letting her go, Tim sinks back into his chair. His cheeks are bright red as he reaches for more potato salad. When no one says anything, he shifts back in his seat.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Zoe's eyebrows jump. "For what?"

He gestures out to the field where Matty kneels by Delilah's wheelchair. "He gets more upset than he probably should over unimportant stuff."

"Rockets getting blown up are pretty important. Not to mention, I think it's a perfectly normal response for a kid," Zoe says so matter-of-factly that Tony flinches. "Matty's a good kid, but he's been through a lot. Don't you think, Tim?"

With a faraway look in his eyes, Tim nods mechanically. "Yeah."

"He'll get better, Tim. He just needs time. Kids don't heal like we do. And Riley – " Zoe points at her daughter with her fork " – we talked about not pushing him so hard, right?"

Riley nods. "But I really did see that rocket go all the way to the moon."

Even though Zoe rolls her eyes, Tim glances over. "Well, Riley might be right. There was one that we couldn't find. Most of them got turned into shrapnel, but we never found any pieces of his favorite."

Riley stares at her mother as though to say, _See? I told you so._

Zoe sighs. "Fine, it went to the moon. But we don't talk about it anymore for today, okay?"

Riley grins. "Okay."

And with that, a comfortable silence falls over the group as they finish their meal in peace. No one bothers to join Matty and Delilah, who spend a long time in the field just talking.

Tony's burgers are so good that he packs away three of them. But the pretzel salad is so gross that he has no idea how his portion—and later, the entire bowl—ends up in the dirt. Across the table, Tim takes advantage of Delilah's absence and tries to eat his weight in meat.

They're nearly finished when Matty comes loping across the field. He sidles up next to Riley, grins at her as though nothing even happened.

"Mom wants to play kickball. Who's in?" he says.

Riley checks with Zoe, who nods. "Yes! We are!"

Tim nods. "Count me in."

"Same here," Tony says with as much as enthusiasm as he can muster.

"Good, because Mom already got a head start to the field." He sprints off towards wherever the hell Delilah went, calling, "the last one there is a rotten egg" over his shoulder.

Riley jumps out of her seat like a shot, tearing off after him. The ghost of a smile rises to Tony's lips as he watches her go. Young and carefree as though nothing in the world would ever weigh her down. Her mother and her father did a good job with her.

_I…I did a good job with her._

Zoe turns to Tim. "Do you think Delilah will ever get sick of kickball?"

"I doubt it." He hazards a smile. "I think kicking our butts is her favorite part of the week."

Tony quirks an eyebrow as he grasps at straws. "I guess we should take her down then?"

"Darn right," Tim says, nodding emphatically. "But let's give her a head start to the field. She feels better if she can do it on her own."

Zoe smiles. "Well, I guess we should clean up anyway."

While they pack up the remnants of dinner, Tony ponders how a woman in a wheelchair can be any good at kickball. But he doesn't have the heart to ask, just figures that he'll have to wait and see.

After the kickball—and for some reason, a baseball bat—are rescued from Delilah's trunk, Tony, Zoe and Tim make the trek to the baseball diamond on the opposite side of the park. They bring Phoebe in her stroller and thankfully, she is still dead to the world.

Zoe and Tim discuss which teachers the kids will have come fall, how exciting third grade will be for the pair, and whether they should let the kids take the bus or carpool. Even though he barely listens, Tony can't help but wonder how any of it could ever be important.

When they reach the baseball diamond, Delilah is already parked in the catcher's box. She pops a wheely that makes Riley and Matty cheer. Tim lurches forward, ready to catch her.

But she gives him a strained smile. "I'm okay, honey. Just breathe."

Composing himself, Tim rolls up his sleeves. "Are you – "

"I got this." She reaches for his hand.

He squeezes it so hard that his knuckles go white against her tanned skin. When she kisses his fingertips, he takes a deep breath and lets himself relax. And with that, the moment of tenderness fades.

Her face suddenly goes hard as Delilah points to the field. "Matty, take first base. Zoe, you're at third. Tim and Riley, you two are in the outfield. I'm catching. Tony, you're the pitcher." Her features pinch. "For now. We'll bat in age order."

And like good little soldiers, they all move to their posts except for Riley who moves to home plate. For the first time, it occurs to Tony that he has no idea when her birthday is.

He tosses her a soft pitch right over the heart of the plate. She connects, sending it straight to Matty's waiting arms. She's out before she even gets two steps up the first base line. Her shoulders slump as she jogs to the outfield.

The game progresses smoothly, easily like they've all gone through the motions so many times before. Given how Delilah gives Matty tips on his stance and tells Tim to swing for the fences when he can't kick for shit, Tony suspects the McGees might get personalized training at home too. But even with Delilah's training, both of them are still out.

But things don't get interesting until Delilah comes up to the plate with her baseball bat in hand—she's allowed to use it because she doesn't have any legs, Riley explains. Riley and Tim go so deep in the outfield that Tony doesn't think they're still in Washington County. Tony is pretty sure that it's overkill.

He pitches her an easy ball because, well, Delilah is in a wheelchair after all. And she smacks it hard enough to send it straight over Zoe's head into the outfield.

_Who the hell gets lift in freaking kick ball?_

By the time Riley gets the ball back to the infield, Delilah has finished rounding the bases. Parking on home plate, she smirks at Tony.

"No need to go easy on me, Bi-Ped," she says.

Impressed, he raises his eyebrows. "I won't make that mistake again, Wheels."

The game drags on long after everyone is sweaty and sunburned and bone-tired. Phoebe wakes up sometime in the fourth inning—if they're even keeping track—and Zoe bows out to watch from the sidelines. Tony grows more determined to take Delilah down, but she proves unstoppable with her baseball bat. Tony debates about stealing it to make sure that the inside isn't stuffed with cork.

Delilah and Tony call it a draw when the sun dips so low under the horizon that it becomes impossible to see the fluorescent yellow ball. Next week, they promise, will be the rematch. They shake on it and he'll be sure to hold her to it. And next time, he won't go easy on her.

As they trek back towards the parking lot, Tony ends up holding Phoebe while Zoe pushes the empty stroller. Phoebe whacks him in the nose and laughs her maniacal baby laugh. He smiles back at her, buries his face in her curls, and smells her baby scent. While it's like nothing he ever encountered before, he can't help but want more. Throwing her head back, she giggles again.

Zoe falls in step with him. "It looks like you two having fun."

"We always do," Tony says because he's so sure of it.

Zoe gestures to where Riley and Matty are alternating between playing tag and catching fireflies. "Sometimes I can't believe Riley was ever that big, that Phoebe will grow up to be as big as her."

"I guess it's something that we can't change, right? They all grow up." It comes out more as a question than a statement. Because that's what babies—kids—do: grow up until they're adults. At least, Tony thinks that's what they do.

"You're right. But I think it feels different because they're ours."

When Tony glances down at the baby, she grabs his nose and blows a raspberry at him. He matches it and hoists her higher. She pitches forward to kiss his cheek before erupting into laughter.

He stops dead.

He draws Phoebe closer as though it could make the moment last forever.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could come up with excuses as to why an update took so long, but I don't have any. I hope you enjoy anyway.

**Sunday, August 9, 2015 – 5:02am – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony just manages to get to sleep—just manages to convince himself that his world won't disappear whiles his eyes are closed—when his phone suddenly starts vibrating. He cracks his tired eyes and tries to stare it into submission, but it dances with its screen ablaze across his nightstand.

Zoe untangles herself from his arms. "Are you going to get that, Spider?"

"Yeah, I'm on it," he says, pretending to be half-asleep.

As soon as he reaches for the cell, the call drops and the room goes deathly silent.

"Who was it?" she asks.

He licks his lips. "No one. Probably just a wrong number."

Heaving a sigh of relief, he glances back to _his wife._ She is propped up on her elbows, watching his movements with a catlike focus as though she is as much a part of his case as he is. Instantly, his body reacts to the only woman whose figure he is supposed to share for the rest of his life. Except right now, it doesn't feel much like the death sentence it usually does. Instead, it's a promise of a forever that he never thought he could ever want.

She runs her fingers delicate through his hair as she dips closer to him. Even in the pitch dark during the height of August, her body smolders with the heat of a thousand suns.

"We have some time before the kids are up," she croons.

"Hours, right?"

Her teeth almost glow as she grins. "Hours and hours."

Tony drags her back down to the bed. Her body crashes against his, lips searching for his in the dark. He fumbles with shaking fingers like it's his first time all over again…like every time with her will always be his first. Here, her touch is a butterfly's caress, not the firm grasp that he knows too well back home. He cups her chin, draws her face to his for a kiss like he never shares with the Zoe back home.

He searches for her –

And that's when his cell phone rings again.

Ignoring it, he presses onward in his conquest, but Zoe's body goes rigid.

"You should get that," she whispers, their noses grazing.

Her scent threatens to drive the last sane thought from his mind. "It's probably a wrong number."

"It might be the station."

Instantly, he remembers his mission in this world: solve the case and go back home. Bring back Riley's real dad so she doesn't have to grow up without him.

But he keeps one hand firmly planted on Zoe's cheek, the other on the rise of her hip. He still doesn't know whether he wants to go back home or stay in this wacky, mixed-up world where people love him for who he is. He might just be able to be happy here, if he just lets himself.

When she shies away, he suddenly sobers up. He doesn't belong here and any talk of staying is just that, talk. He has a home and life, worlds away from here.

He scrambles after the phone.

"DiNozzo." _This had better be fucking important_ rings loud and clear in his tone.

_"Heya Tony."_ There's a nervous laugh. _"Good morning."_ Tony is going to kill Tim. _"Look, I don't mean to bother you so early, but my computer just cracked the code on that jump drive."_

Tony bolts upright. "What have you got, McGee?"

_"I – uh –_ " Tim gives anoth nervous laugh " – _I don't know yet."_

"What do you mean?"

Tim waits a long beat. _"I'm still at home. We left my car at the station when we went to the cooking store yesterday, remember? I tried to take Delilah's, but I can't use hand controls."_

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose. "I'll be over. Give me five minutes."

_"Actually, I'll meet you on your porch."_ Tim laughs again. _"Delilah's going to kill me if she wakes up and sees what happened."_

Tony decides not to press. "See you in a few."

When he flips the phone closed, Zoe eases herself back to bed. He squeezes her shoulder, stares deeply into her dark eyes. They share one long kiss before he climbs out of her.

"Hold that thought," he whispers. "Don't make any plans for tonight."

Nearly asleep again, she smiles lazily at him. "We have kids. We never have plans."

"Then let's get them good movie to watch. Something where they won't move for at least two hours."

She laughs, almost to herself. "A little optimistic, aren't we?"

He kisses her again. "I guess we'll have to time ourselves."

"You bet we will."

With regret bubbling up in his chest, Tony heads into his closet. He skips the suits of his yesteryear and the polos that make him resemble a business man set for the golf-course. He slides on a pair of lived-in jeans and a white button down _short-sleeve_ shirt. All he needs is pocket protector and he is pretty sure he'll fit right in with Tim's minions in Computer Forensics. Once he gets the chance, Tony will update his wardrobe here because if the fashion police catch him wearing this, they'll lock him up and throw away the key. Figuring he is coming up on a life sentence anyway, he slips on a pair of running shoes. He smooths down his hair to complete the look.

_I'm only going into the office for a few hours. I'll be home before lunch…I hope._

He picks his way through the dark room to retrieve his wallet, cell phone, creds—wait, his badge—and his Glock from the gun safe. He is nearly out the door when Zoe calls his name.

He doubles back. "Yeah, Keates?"

She doesn't bother to sit up. "Don't forget to stop by the movie place and rent _The Shaggy Dog_ on your way home _._ "

He cocks his head. "Why?"

_"_ You know that It's the only movie that keeps Riley entertained for hours. And please don't tell me again why we shouldn't let her watch it. Remember that she likes it."

He blinks, more than a little ashamed his child would like a movie so awful. Neither the original nor the 'Tim—the Toolman—Taylor' remake were particularly well-done in his opinion. While the writers could have provided a well-thought storyline, they preferred jokes revolving around a canine turning into a human at the most inopportune moments. Then again, if it means quality time with Zoe, it might just be worth accepting that evil.

_I'll have my whole life to school Riley on the values of quality films._

A lump catches in his throat.

_How much time do I really have?_

When he recovers, he asks: "Which one? The Tim Allen or the Fred MacMurray version?"

Zoe scoffs in her sleep. "Does it matter? They're both the same."

He decides not to tell her how very different they are. For starters, one is in black and white and the other color. But when she starts snoring, he realizes how little she cares about the films anyway. He'll just pick up both of them and when he and Zoe finish their adult time, he will treat Riley to some of Disney's gems from the last century. If he does nothing before he leaves this world, he'll ensure his children know the true joy of cinema, just like his mother did for him.

Then he sneaks through the house towards the front door. He pauses in the kitchen to grab something out of the pantry. He tosses the wrapper on the counter and dives into something that shouldn't be breakfast. It turns out to be some sort of gooey, fake-strawberry cupcake that turns his stomach. But he is starving enough to eat it anyway.

Moonlight cascades through the bay window in the living room making the toys, dolls, and stuffed animals lay at rest like they're ready for the grave. Tony tiptoes through it to let the ghosts sleep.

Outside, the air is already thick with the heat of the day. A promise of yet another scorcher in what the weatherman has dubbed 'the heat wave of the century'. Tony pulls at his collar, wishes he cared so little about fashion that he could bring himself to own a pair of shorts. For all he knows, the fashion victim he seems to be here might just have ten pairs stashed somewhere in his closet. He makes a mental note to find some clothes that fit him and look good when he gets some time to himself.

"Hey Tony," a familiar voice calls out in the dark. "I was beginning to think you fell asleep again."

Scratch that, if he ever gets time to himself.

Tony turns around to find Tim already leaning against the van. Tim looks ready for a day at work with a pair of freshly pressed khakis and a button down dark blue oxford. The only clue that Tim might be uncomfortable in the early heat are his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the sheen of perspiration rising to his round face.

Chasing the sleep from his eyes, Tony plasters the brightest grin he can manage on his face as he catches up to his friend. "We've got to stop meeting up like this."

Tim laughs. "Tell me about it. I haven't worked hours like these since I left NCIS."

"I know what you mean. Gibbs will run you into the ground if he has the chance," Tony replies seriously as he unlocks the van.

Tim looks up from climbing into the car. "Since when do you know how Gibbs works?"

Tony flounders, grasping at any straw to keep his cover intact. At that moment, he notices the hedge separating his and Tim's driveway is mysteriously missing a huge chunk halfway through it. When he squints at it closer, he finds a taillight playing hide and seek.

His eyes flick to Tim. "What did you do to our bush?"

Tim sputters, his cheeks going red. "When you didn't answer, I figured you were still asleep. So I tried Delilah's car, but I couldn't figure out the hand controls."

"So you decided to park it in the bush?"

"That's where it stopped! Did you know the car doesn't have a brake?"

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "Hence, hand controls."

Tim looks away. "The gas and the reverse look exactly the same."

"So you're just going to leave it like that for Delilah to find when she wakes up?"

"I figured that was better than leaving it in the middle of the front porch."

Tony chuckles. "I guess you've got a point. You might want to bring her flowers when you come home so she doesn't make you dinner again."

With a somber nod, Tim follows Tony into the van.

Tony turns the key in the ignition, cringing when the engine cranks before it catches and turns over. The van roars to life and Tony backs it out of the driveway, careful to avoid the overgrown piece of hedge that pokes into his driveway. He'll get to that later too.

They take the sleepy city streets in silence while the radio warbles a slow, Rat Pack tune to itself. In the passenger seat, Tim is glued to his smartphone. Tony sees the pictures of flowers in the reflection of the window.

_Attaboy, McGee. Nothing says, I'm the idiot who tried to steal your car—and please never make my neighbor breakfast again—like two dozen long-stemmed roses._

When they passed the dark and closed down doughnut shop, Tony wonders whether they're the only two people in the city stupid enough to be awake at this ungodly hour.

"Damn," Tim mutters. "I would give anything for a cup of coffee and a doughnut right now."

Tony quirks an eyebrow. "Didn't you eat before you left?"

"All we had in the kitchen was some of Delilah's sprouted lentil bread, tofu noodle soup, and her famous kale chips." He pushes out a breath like it's a fate worse than death. "We always have kale chips."

_And you can keep them,_ Tony wants to say.

"Well, I'll stop if I find something open," he says instead.

But they end up at the precinct before they find an open convenience store, gas station or fast food restaurant. All Tony has to offer Tim when they pull into the garage is an apologetic smile. Tim just sighs.

The Audi is right where Tim left it: smack dab in the middle of two parking spaces in the farthest corner, safely tucked away from where the rest of the riff-raff park by the entrance. Tony berths the van as close as he can get to the Audi without hitting it. In the passenger seat, Tim grips the door handle with white knuckles and doesn't breathe until Tony kills the engine and gets out of the car.

They take the elevator up to the floor that houses Forensics and the police department. A few tired-eyed unis haunt the hallway like lost ghosts. They barely react enough to give Tony and Tim a cursory wave. Tony asks if any of them have seen Sparr, but it turns out that she went home hours ago.

Moments later, they end up in Tim's office. He settles into his high-backed chair like a general readying for war, uncertain as to whether he'll be maintaining the status quo or hitting DefCon five today. Tony collapses into a visitor's chair on the other side of Tim's desk, awaiting the long-winded technobabble that usually precedes Tim's discoveries.

After studying his computer screen for a long moment, Tim types frenetically. Then he frowns deeply.

"I was expecting that. At all," he mutters.

Tony is on his feet. "What?"

"I cracked the code, but the recipes still don't make any sense. All of these ingredients just come up at a random mish-mash of letters." He types again. "Maybe I should –"

"Could your code be wrong?"

Tim shoots Tony a look that stops him dead. "It's probably be a cipher."

"A what?"

Tim sighs like he spends too much of his time explaining things. "You know those puzzles where the letters are all mixed up and you have to rearrange the alphabet until you figure out the puzzle?"

"Sure," Tony says, but he has no idea what the hell Tim is talking about.

"Well, I think it's still a code, but I don't have the key. So I'm going to have to guess at what parameters to run on my program." He makes a face, then he says Tony's favorite phrase: "This is going to take a while."

Tony starts towards the door. "I guess I'll find something to do."

Tim looks up, ever hopeful. "Are you going for coffee?"

Tony shrugs. "I wasn't going to, but – "

"That's so great of you, Tony. I appreciate it. Black this time, please."

Tim fishes a few dollars out of his wallet, but Tony shakes his head. "Just try to get something before I get back."

"I always do," Tim says with a smile.

Then, Tony heads back into the hallway. He could just go to the other side of the building to the coffee bar in the squad room, but he doubts Tim would appreciate him hovering for results like Gibbs used to.

So against Tony's better judgement, he picks the van up from the garage and goes to the doughnut place on the town. Outside, the night has given way to the beginnings of a picturesque summer's day. The pale blue sky hangs above the grimy skyscrapers, reminding Tony that beauty still exists. With the air conditioner on full blast, he thinks that the heat may have finally given up its iron grip on the city.

But when he slips out of the car at the doughnut shop, he can't catch his breath. He rushes inside to order his and Tim's usual: coffees with sprinkled doughnuts for his friend and whatever surprise the lady behind the counter gives him. He lingers inside, enjoying the pump of their cool air and the stillness like he is the only man left on earth. Well, except for the trio slaving behind the counter to stock the candy-colored doughnuts.

Sitting at a bench, he studies the weary world outside the window. For a long time, he debates whether he could be happy here as nothing more than a detective, but also a father. In his entire life, he has never felt so unbuoyed, so lost, so unfocused in a place where a version of himself planted so many roots. After spending his entire life trying to become an NCIS agent, it's the only thing that he's ever known and the only thing that's ever left him feeling accomplished.

But now seeing the way Riley and Phoebe look at him, feeling the way Zoe reaches for him in the night, feeling the way he did last night after family time makes him wish that he had spent searching for him in his old life. He never knew he could desire a life that he always considered so mundane, so pedestrian, so below his wild and crazy ways.

It's like waking up for the first time.

He steeples his fingers, presses them against his lips.

Slowly, the sleepy shop wakes up as customers come, one at first and then in droves. Before long, the whole place is awake with the chatter of early morning joggers, families with young children, and churchgoers finally released back into a life of sin after an early service.

Tony decides it's time to leave himself and his contemplation behind. Maybe it's time to bow to the will of—well, whatever sent him. However long he has here, he'll try to do the best he can with it.

_I only hope it's longer than shorter._

Suddenly, a toddler hell-bent on a window seat climbs into the booth with him. He slides out of her way, waves away the repentant smile of the little girl's parents.

Before he leaves, he orders a dozen doughnuts for the security guards at the station on the off-chance that there will be another deadbeat guardian angel like Terrence among them. He desperately wants a cosmic _in_ with that force because he starting to get settled, starting to let himself go. He doubts that he'll be able to handle having this life ripped from him when he is slowly letting hismelf fall head over heels in love with it.

His thoughts don't leave him as he climbs back into the van. And no matter how fast he drives back to the station, they still linger in his rearview, in his backseat, in the passenger seat, anywhere to be with him. He parks the van next to Tim's car, figuring that it is part of the normalcy here.

Then he takes the elevator up to the ground floor. When the doors slide open, he hears the loud, unintelligible voice before he evens sees the person responsible. It's one that used to come as bark of an order after a long day's work, as a shout to get his ass moving, and sometimes, a whisper as a warning.

_I'd recognize Gibbs anywhere._

Tony rushes towards the security desk. Gibbs stands in front of it, back ramrod straight and trying to bore a hole through the rookie working with his eyes. A few feet away, Kate Todd looks like she would rather be in bed. A black dachshund sleeps curled up at her feet.

Tony freezes at the sight. How many times did he stand there like Kate? Stand there and try to pretend like he wasn't a part of Gibbs' ranting and raving shit show.

"I expect to speak with Detective DiNozzo," Gibbs says. "Now."

The rookie checks the schedule. "I'm sorry, sir. But he isn't even on shift today."

"Then call him."

"But sir, we really aren't supposed to bother – "

"I don't care." Gibbs slams his hand down, making Kate and the dog jump. "Wake him the hell up."

The rookie picks up the phone, glancing between it and Gibbs with wide eyes like he isn't sure whether breaking some rule is more important than appeasing the monster in front of him.

Tony takes a deep breath, ready to confront his former boss. He plasters on that trademark grin that he used to wear in the bullpen after supergluing Tim to his keyboard for the umpteenth time.

"Nice to see you again, Agent Gibbs." He walks over as casually as he can, leers at Kate for old times' sake. "Agent Todd. Anybody want a doughnut?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hemmed and hawed a lot about posting this chapter. Gibbs and Kate may come off a little OOC, but it was the best I could reconcile with how I feel the characters would be without Tony. I found that Tony humanized Gibbs and kept him honest, so I think he would have been a lot shadier had he not known Tony. If the chapter upsets you, I apologize. But like i said, I thought long and hard about this chapter and that's been part of the reason for the delay in writing. To me, it just feels right.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

**8:18am – Metro Police Station – Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

"So what brings you all the way down here this fine morning, Agent…" Tony pretends to forget his former boss' name, but his heart nearly beats out of his chest "…Gibbs?"

The dachshund by Kate's feet growls at him, low and quite ferocious. Something bubbles up in Tony's chest and he isn't sure whether it's burning hatred for the hellhound that sent him here or a gratitude to the mutt for giving him a peek into this life. So Tony simply ignores the dachshund, who gives up and marks his territory on the reception desk.

Gibbs remains stock-still, trying to bore a hole through Tony with his glare. But after being on the receiving end for nearly 12 years, Tony finds himself surprisingly immune. What used to send him into a panic attack is now nothing worse than going toe to toe with a nasty suspect.

_Bossman, you're on my turf now._

Tony cracks a grin. "Oh, I get it. You two are here to make good on that promise for interagency communication, huh?"

"You stole evidence from my investigation, _Detective."_ Gibbs hurls the word like an insult, but Tony has never been prouder to wear the badge.

His smile broadens. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs steps closer until his nose almost touches Tony's. The reek of stale coffee and halitosis makes Tony's eyes water, but he holds his ground. Up close, he never noticed how the lines of Gibbs' face crack against his rough, dry skin and make his eyes sink into his skull. Tony recognizes what Gibbs is for the first time: a man who spends too much time running to keep the demons from nipping at his heels. What was once terrifying is now tragic.

Gibbs clenches his teeth. "Care to explain how a copy of our reports went missing from my ME's office?"

Tony catches himself before he laughs. So that's how Hibbard got his hands on the info, he turned a social call with Mallard into a burglary. Maybe the crafty bastard deserves a date with Andrea Sparr after all.

Tony shrugs. "Those reports were on my desk when I got here yesterday. I figured you decided to play nice for once, sir."

When Gibbs' muscles tense, Kate slides between them and says: "If you wanted them legally, you should've made a formal request."

"I didn't realize it worked that way, Agent Todd," Tony replies. "I thought we'd share information so we could lock up the bastard who killed our vics faster. Isn't that what this is all about?"

When Gibbs' eyes narrow, Tony is pretty sure that he hit a nerve. Working a case opposite his former team grants Tony a surprising clarity that shows him the Gibbs-way is nothing more than a blockade to other LEOs trying to do the same job. He can't help but wonder whether any killers went free because of the runaround he used to give the law enforcement alphabet soup.

"It's about results," Gibbs growls.

And Tony finally gets it. "Yours, not mine."

When neither agent replies, Tony nods slowly. The doughnuts and coffees in his hands suddenly weigh thousands of pounds. He should've seen this coming, should've known what he was doing.

Tony wrinkles his nose in disgust. "And you're here because you need something, don't you?"

While Gibbs remains stone-faces, a tiny flicker in Kate's eyes gives them away. So they wouldn't be here unless the Mulroney case went cold.

Behind the desk, the rookie watches Tony as he waits for the all clear to kick Gibbs and Kate the hell out of here. His hand hovers over the phone, ready to call for back-up.

Sighing, Tony debates whether he should play his old game: tell them to submit their formal request and give them the address of the deli across the street or send them files with redacted portions citing national security.

But a tiny part of him has the undying urge to lead them up to Tim's office while prattling off every case detail. Blind loyalty to Gibbs, he finds, is something that doesn't disappear given a different life, an alternate reality, another dimension, whatever the fuck this place is. After twelve years of having his former boss' six, Tony would still follow him to the bowels of hell.

_One last time, for old time's sake._

To make himself feel better, Tony tries to believe that he and Sparr will catch the murderer in no time if they have some help other than Tim. Not to mention, he and Sparr have next to nothing. So if Gibbs and his team have the same, together they might just end up with something.

Tony gestures towards the rookie with the doughnut bag. "They're okay, Officer."

"Are you sure?" the rookie asks, squinting up at him as though Tony just used some sort of code.

"Yeah, get back to…" Tony rolls his eyes at the corner _Playboy_ peeking out from underneath case files "….work."

"On it, sir."

With the tilt of his head, Tony leads Gibbs, Kate and dachshund towards the elevator. To his credit, Gibbs appears to be shocked that a lowly detective is presenting the case like a seasoned investigator, not cowering in the corner like an unweaned recruit. When they hit the squadroom floor, Tony leads them down the hall in the direction of Tim's office. The dachshund's nails _scritch-scritch_ along the tile floor.

"I didn't know NCIS had a K9 unit," Tony quips. The dachshund gives a low growl and Kate rolls her eyes. "What's his name anyway?"

"Goliath," she says.

"And here I thought he looked more like a Twinkle-Toes."

Goliath stops dead in the hallway to give Tony a menacing stare with bared teeth. After a snap of the leash and a "knock it the hell off" from Kate, he drops his head and obediently trails the trio.

Tony jumps to the head of the group, pushes the door to Tim's office open with his shoulder. The frenetic sound of typing stops abruptly, but the soft jazz music continues to hang in the air.

"I was wondering when you'd get back, Tony. You were gone so long that I had to get started with station coffee." Tim cringes, then repeats, "station coffee," like it's a fate worse than death.

Tony instantly regrets bringing Gibbs and Kate up here without warning. So he plasters the broadest grin that he can on his face as he deposits the coffees and doughnuts on Tim's desk.

"Hey Tim, you'll never guess who I found in the lobby."

Tim glances up from his computer monitor. "Who?" The sight of Gibbs and Kate wipes the smile straight off his face, making his eyes go wide and his mouth gape. He jumps to his feet so fast that he nearly falls flat on his ass. Every trace of confidence is gone when he mumbles: "Nice to see you again, Kate. Boss, I mean, sir. No, sorry. Gibbs."

Gibbs cracks a small smile as he appraises Tim's office set-up that looks more appropriate for an intergalactic space station than a police station. He silent studies each and every inch of Tim's desk as the younger man blushes ferociously, looking like he wished the floor would swallow him right now.

"Nice office, McGee. You're doing well for yourself. Head of computer forensics for Metro, great work," Kate says sarcastically.

Tim drops his eyes to his desk.

Gibbs whacks the back of Kate's head, _hard._ The back of Tony's own head develops a sympathetic ache, although he is sure that he's never had some sense whacked into him here.

"Miss having you on the team, McGee," Gibbs says quietly. "You were a good agent."

Tim manages a small smile. "Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs matches it. "Haven't been your boss in almost a decade, McGee."

"Right." Tim nods. "Gibbs."

For a long moment, Gibbs and Tim's eyes lock in some sort of silent conversation. If Tony didn't know any better, he might think it was his former boss' way of apologizing. Sadness wells up in Tony's heart and he finds himself wishing that he heard the same words just once.

Nice work. You're a good agent, a great man.

Just some sort of show of appreciation for his years of dogged determination and hard work.

Eventually, Kate clears her throat.

Tony springs to life. "Did you find anything yet, Tim?"

When Tim breaks Gibbs' stare, he meets Tony's eyes as though to ask _are you sure about this?_ Tony doesn't know whether to shrug, shake his head, or say that he's never been more sure of anything in his life. So he just hands Tim his coffee. Tim nods carefully as though he's trying to make up his mind.

After taking a slow sip, Tim grins like a mad scientist. "I cracked the code."

He lets the silence hang dramatically as he takes another sip of his coffee. Tony is about to head slap his friend himself until he understands what Tim is doing: letting Gibbs and Kate know that Tim and Tony are in charge, that they're playing by his rules now. Gibbs waits patiently while Kate shifts her weight.

She lets out a huff. "And what do you have, McGee? Or do you expect us to beg for it?"

Tim makes a couple of clicks to transfer the recipes on the monitors behind him. Goliath lets out a lazy yawn before he curls up around Kate's feet.

"That's it?" Kate scoffs. "You are showing us how to make halibut and – "

"What appears to be normal recipes are anything but," Tim interrupts. "I used a program that…." When Tim launches into his geek speak, Tony lets him ramble on about cyphers and decryption programs and letter exchanges and who the hell knows what the rest of it is. Tony expects Gibbs to tell Tim to get to the freaking point, but their former boss remains silent. At the end, Tim hits a button and the text behind him blurts from a simple grocery list to one that is much more nefarious. Tim finishes with: "Chicken penne is actually a recipe for plastic explosives and halibut is – "

"A dirtbag's guide to making a car bomb," Tony finishes.

Tim nods seriously. "And it isn't good."

Kate crosses her arms. "Why? Can't people just look this up on the internet?"

"Yes and no," Tim says, leaning back in his chair. "Given that whomever came up with this recipe figured out a way to make explosives out of everyday, relatively untraceable, items. It would make the bombs a lot more difficult to identify. Not to mention, they'd be a lot harder to screen for."

Gibbs makes a face. "It's something terrorists would kill to get their hands on."

Scrubbing his hand across his face, Tony sinks into one of Tim's extra chairs. He reaches for the coffee he bought hours ago and takes a deep sip. It's long cold and sickly sweet, but he drinks it anyway.

He glances up at Gibbs. "We showed you ours. Now, show us yours."

Amusement dances in Gibbs' eyes as he reaches into the pocket of his coat. He pulls out a jump drive that's identical to the one in Tim's computer.

Tim eyes it suspiciously. "Where'd you find that?"

"In our dead petty officer's living room." Gibbs blinks. "Why?"

"No reason," Tim says as he takes it.

He uses a plastic bag to remove the jump drive from his computer before replacing it with the one Gibbs gave him. After a few clicks, he accesses something on the computer.

"What are you doing?" Kate asks.

"Just running a quick scan to make sure this doesn't destroy my machine." Tim's eyes jump to her. "Have you two tried accessing it yet?"

"No, we brought you a piece of evidence that we never even looked at." Kate rolls her eyes, puts her hands on her hips. "Of course, we did, McGee. Abby and Cybercrimes are still trying to break the encryption on the original. That's just a copy."

Tony cracks a half-smile. "That you just carry around for shits and giggles?"

"Just in case," Gibbs says. The _in case we got lucky and ran into Tim here_ goes implied, but unspoken.

Tim seems to get it too because he cracks his knuckles before he gets to work. After a few clicks, several documents pop up on the screens behind him. But every word of text is gibberish. Another couple of clicks and some typing that sounds like Tim's trying to murder his keyboard, then the documents switch line by line into a list of semi-coherent words. When Tim makes another click, a program pops up on the screen to start running.

"This might take a while," he says quietly.

While Gibbs nods, Kate makes a face. Before either of them have a chance to reply, Tim breaks into a sneezing fit. He covers his nose with his hands and tries to smile apologetically.

"The dog," he murmurs, his voice nasal. "I'll be right back. I need to grab some tissues." He starts to leave, but pauses by the door. "Hey Tony, can you help me with the tissues?"

Flabbergasted, Tony double-takes between Gibbs and Tim. When he shoots his friend a look as though to say _you'll need some help by the time I'm done with you,_ Tim jerks his head towards the hallway. Against his better judgement, Tony holds up his index finger in a _one minute_ motion.

Gibbs bobs his head at Tim when he and Tony leave. They head down the hallway to the men's room. When Tim ducks inside, he holds the door open with his foot for Tony to follow. Rolling his eyes, Tony follows Tim into the poorly lit, linoleum palace.

Tim grabs a paper towel, then blows his nose.

"Did you really need help for that?" Tony asks, clearly annoyed.

"No, but I needed to see something,"

Tony cocks an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

Tim just blows his nose again. Sighing, Tony crosses his arms and slumps against the bathroom door.

"I thought you were allergic to cats," he says.

"Anything with fur or feathers." Bleary-eyed, Tim stares at him over his paper towel. "And scales, apparently. I didn't find out about that until last year after Matty brought home Myrtle the Turtle."

Tony hazards a grin while Tim tries to become responsible for deforesting half of Virginia with his use of every paper product in the bathroom. After a few long minutes, he rests his head against the wall for a better view of his friend.

"What happened between you and them anyway?" Tony blurts out.

Tim stops dead. "Between who?"

And Tony knows his friend stalling. "You and NCIS."

Screwing his face with disgust, Tim shoots his paper towel for the trashcan, but misses by a mile. It ends up in a ball at Tony's feet, limp and used and discarded.

"It's a long story," Tim mutters.

"According to you, we've got nothing but time."

Tim hugs his arms to his chest and drops his gaze to the floor. "I spent almost a year on Gibbs' team. We constantly worked around the clock. I was spending more nights at the office than I was at home. It felt good like I could change the world if I just put in a few more hours, just catch one more suspect."

Tony nods, remembering that intoxicating feeling all too well. "We all feel that way, Tim."

"But it never felt like enough for Gibbs, you know. It was like if we worked for twelve hours, he expected sixteen. Two all-nighters in a row, but he would expect three. Nothing was ever enough."

"We've all had a superior like that."

"But it was more than that." Tim smiles sadly. "We were working a case with this crazy Israeli bastard who – "

"Ari Haswari," Tony whispers.

Tim blinks. "Yeah, how did you know that?"

"I remember reading something about him the paper." Tony half-smiles as he tries to cover. "But whatever he did must've been terrible, if you left a job because of it."

Thankfully, Tim is too lost in his own mind to press Tony. His eyes take on a far off look as though his memory takes him somewhere he doesn't want to go. "We were working a case, a nasty murder. And I got voted to drive the evidence back to NCIS since I was the probie and all. Anyway, Haswari jumped in the car when I stopped at a red light and pulled a gun on me. We ended up at an abandoned farm in the middle of nowhere. He tied me to a chair and beat the shit out of me to find out exactly how much NCIS knew about him and his plan."

"And?"

"Nothing." Tim lets out a hollow laugh. "We knew absolutely nothing, so he cut me loose. Dropped me off downtown the next day with the promise that he'd see me again real soon."

A lick of fear dances down Tony's spine as he realizes how close Tim came to being Kate in this world. Even though Tony doesn't have the heart to ask, Tim still rambles on.

"While I was gone, the team figured out that Haswari was planning to intercept a predator drone. Long story short, he got his hands on one a few days later after we ended up finding his hideout. While Kate and Gibbs went to hunt him down, I had to try to hack a stolen predator with a third rate laptop."

Tony presses his lips together. "That doesn't sound good."

"I managed to pull it off, but not before that crazy bastard winged me with a sniper rifle." Tim clasps his right hand over his left shoulder. "I hid under the car until Gibbs and Kate chased him off. Even though it was just a graze, sometimes, I can't help but think another foot over and…" He swallows hard "…I wouldn't be here. Matty wouldn't…" Tim looks away. "And do you know what Gibbs said after he found me?"

"Somehow, I don't think it was 'good job.'"

"'Back to work. We do whatever it takes to catch the bastard.'" Tim shakes his head. "I'd just been abducted, had the crap kicked out of me and shot in the period of a few days. I did what the job expected me to do. I went back to work with a GSW, one eye almost swollen shut and a couple of loose teeth. But that was the day, I realized I didn't want to work like that anymore."

"And that you'd live longer behind a desk?"

"Yeah. Gibbs put Haswari down a few weeks later and I transferred the heck out of there." Tim manages a pathetic smile. "G-d, I can't believe how much I'm complaining about this."

"I don't blame you at all, Tim. If I had gone through the same thing, I probably wouldn't have lasted as long as you did."

Hugging his arms to his chest, Tony shares the fleeting sadness that he is sure Tim shares. But Tony knows that he lasted much longer than the year that Tim spent being worked to death. Because, in a previous life, he did. Twelve years of his life gone and Tony will never get them back.

"Do you think we should get back?" Tony asks suddenly.

Tim nods. "Yeah, they should be gone by now."

Tony's mouth gapes. "Gone? What?"

Without giving Tim a chance to reply, Tony bolts down the hallway to Tim's office. The closed door sends Tony's heart straight into his gut. He eases it open to find a dark, empty office. The blue screens of the trio of computer monitors blaze in the darkness behind Tim's desk. When Tony draws closer, he makes out the words _Error – File Not Found._

"Son of a bitch," he says.

There's a low growl at his feet when Goliath glances up from his interrupted nap. Of course, Kate and Gibbs abandoned the hellhound at the first chance they got. He nudges the dog with his foot and Goliath gnaws on the top of Tony's sneaker.

While Tony unleashes a string of expletives, Tim catches up. When he flicks on the lights, the entire office is bathed in an off-white glow and the sight turns Tony's stomach. Gone are the neat piles of files and papers on Tim's desk to be replaced by a haphazard mountain of pages. A few of his drawers are open with their contents obviously picked through.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Tony grouses.

Tim just shrugs. "Par for the course with those two, I'm afraid. Don't worry, they didn't get anything."

Tony's eyes widen. "You knew they were going to do that?"

"You don't work for someone without knowing what they're really like," Tim replies, smiling.

"But they took our jump drive."

"It was just a copy. We got more from them than they took from us." When Tony makes a _go on_ motion, Tim takes to re-organizing his desk while he talks. "They brought me the original jump drive from their case, so I was able to download all of the information and install a keylogger that'll give me backdoor access into whatever computer they use to examine the data."

Tony puts his hands on his hips. "But what about the decryption program that you ran?"

Tim makes a face at a paper before he chucks it in the trash can. "It was a dummy program that ran on a loop until they left. I would've been genuinely surprised if they were still here when we got back." He shrugs again. "I guess people never do change."

"Sometimes they do."

"Not Gibbs and Kate." Tim settles back into his chair. "But the good news is that I just need a few hours to figure out exactly what they have." When Goliath lets out a yip in his sleep, Tim quirks an eyebrow. "Should I call animal control to get rid of him?"

Tony shakes his head. "I'll figure out what do with him. Riley has been begging for a dog for ages."

"Suit yourself."

Tim gets back into his computer. Tony settles into the chair across from the desk to polish off the rest of his coffee and his doughnuts while Tim works.

His phone rings. "DiNozzo."

_"Heya, Big D,"_ Sparr comes across the line, sounding almost chipper. _"You'll never guess what Hibbard found."_

He cocks a grin when Tim glances up. "Oh yeah?"

_"We got an ID on John Doe."_

"And what about your not-so-suicide?"

There's a throaty laugh. _"Hit a wall, I'm afraid. So I've got Fisher and the boys sitting on a potential perp's house, waiting for him to come back so I can question him. Have you got anything on John Doe?"_

Tony meets Tim's eyes and makes a face. "If you got an ID, you've got more than us…I mean, me. What's the vic's name?"

At that moment, the first line of text from Gibbs' jump drive transforms from gibberish to a name and a phone number. Michael Perkins, 302-555-8917.

_"Michael Perkins."_

"You've got to be shitting me." Tony is instantly by Tim's side. "Run that name, McGee and get me an address for that guy."

And that's when Sparr launches a rant in Tony's ear about how he had better not be keeping something from her, about they're partners and meant to have each other's backs, about how they're supposed to be on the same team. Tony listens the best he can, apologizes over and over while he watches Tim bring up an address for Kingman Park. He relays the information to Sparr and begs her to meet him in the garage.

Tony is halfway out the door, still on the phone when Tim stops him. Turning back, Tony believes that there is more to the lead than originally thought.

But Tim stands there, holding out Goliath's leash. "The dog can't stay."


	22. Chapter 22

**11:23am – Metro Police Station – Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

It takes a lot of work for Tony to convince Sparr to meet him at Michael Perkins' house.

First, he comes clean about everything he and Tim uncovered in the cooking store, about how Gibbs and Kate stole some of their evidence, about everything he kept from her over the past few days. She lobs a curse at him and then, hangs up. When he calls back to tell her the magic words—bombs and a matter of national security—she promises to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

But he tells her that they don't have to go that far, just the other side of Washington.

Tony takes the van to an address that Tim provided in Rock Creek Park. Goliath rides shotgun with his nose pressed against the window to watch the world whiz past them. Whenever Tony stops at a red light, the dog howls at the pedestrians that get in their way. Tony just gives the dog a light whack to the back of his head, which earns him a growl of his own.

The concrete doldrums eventually bleed into the edge of the park. As he hangs a right onto Beach Road, Tony tries not to think about all of the good times that he spent here. Well, if you could consider the hours spent collecting evidence and cleaning up dead bodies with your teammates to be 'good times.' Even still, he wouldn't trade any of it for the world.

Moments later, Tony hangs a left onto a gravel driveway that dives into a dense patch of forest. A dented, metal mailbox well on its way to scrap metal announces that start of the Perkins' homestead. The van hops and skips down the potholed street, past the waist high grass slapping its sides. The driveway ends in a patch of bare earth that's cracked and sun-baked. An off-white Winnebago that should have been junked years ago suns itself in the middle of the clearing.

Tony pulls up next to a nearby squad car.

Sparr is already leaning against the side of the RV, tossing a rock up and down in one hand.

As soon as he slides out of the car, the oppressive heat wraps itself around him. The jarring ride mixes with his sugary breakfast to turn his guts to jelly. It's enough to make him sick. Tony swallows hard to keep the doughnuts and the coffee down before he coaxes Goliath out from under the seat. The dachshund takes a moment to find his balance as he slowly meanders behind Tony.

"Took ya long enough, Big D!" Sparr calls.

"You were in the neighborhood, so you had a head start. It wasn't a fair race," Tony shoots back.

With a shrug, she goes back to juggling her rock. "Oh well, I still beat your sorry ass."

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't join in the childish fight. When Goliath trips over an errant beer can, Tony glances down to find a Budweiser and Pabst graveyard. He pays his respects by kicking them out of his and the dachshund's footpath.

Once he sees the RV up close, Tony doubts it is even inhabitable. The windows are rusted shut with the dust and smoke-caked plastic serving as a barrier against the filth inside. Fist deep dents litter the Winnebago's sides and add to the Jackson Pollock-esque mess of rust spots, dirt splatters, and factory original Umbra brown color. Tony thinks it's beautiful in a Woodstock meets trailer trash kind of way.

Sparr glances down at Goliath. "Who's your furry friend?"

"Our newest witness."

She half-smiles. "So I take a case on myself and you decide to play US Marshall with this furball?"

When Goliath growl loudly, Tony chuckles. But as soon as Sparr crouches down to scratches his ears, the dog rolls onto his back to offer up his belly. She rubs it and the dog looks about to pass out with new-found pleasure. It's almost like no one ever took the time to spoil him before.

"What a nice little guy," she says.

"Oh yeah, he's fucking wonderful," Tony says sarcastically.

Her eyebrows jump. "Did you pick up a surprise for the girls?"

"Remember when I said that Gibbs and left us some evidence when he lifted our jump drive?"

Sparr stops dead. Goliath peers up expectantly, wiggles his body to entice her to get back to work.

Tony laughs, a little anxious, a little crazed. "Well, he sorta ditched the dog."

Sparr draws herself to her full height and Goliath rolls over, clearly disappointed. "Wait, you mean to tell me that this is the key piece of evidence that Navy bastard gave us? You've got to be shitting me, DiNozzo. Of all the G-damned games that bastard – "

"Yes and no. Tim managed to copy Gibbs' jump drive while he was there." Tony holds his free hand up to silence her, beg for a chance to explain himself. "We have everything that they do and Tim is already on it. The three of us are better than their whole team. We'll figure out everything out." When anger worms its way onto her features, Tony half-smiles. "Just look, Tim already got us an ID on our dead guy."

She laughs sardonically, her tongue between her teeth as she runs her boot along the dry dirt. "Hibbard's assistant found us that with dental records."

Tony sighs. "Just give Tim a chance. Please."

"I always do, you know that. And he's good, _damned_ good. But for some reason, it feels different this time. You always used to include me in the boy's club, but right now, you're not letting any girls into the clubhouse. What's going on with you anyway?"

She puts her hand on her hips, scuffs her boot against the dry earth. It kicks a tiny dust cloud that makes Goliath break into a sneezing fit. Even though Tony is pretty sure that she waits for him to speak, he has no idea what to say. He lets the silence stretch as they engage in their staring contest.

Sparr is the first to fold. "I want to beat that Navy bastard as much as you do. But we can't do it if we aren't playing on the same team, DiNozzo." Her blue eyes laser on him and cut straight to the bone. "You're keeping me out the loop and I don't know why. We're partners. Or did you forget that?"

Tony glances out at the open field behind the RV. Meadow grass flags in the mid-day sun, bent in reverent prayer as though it could bring rain.

"I know. I know." He sighs quietly, his shoulders sagging. "I was trying to keep you out of it, in case the brass cracked down on me. I'm afraid that I might be playing with fire here."

"And it's okay to drag your buddy in IT down with you?" When her eyes meet Tony's, all he sees is hellfire. "That's my job. Do you remember what you told me when we started together?"

Tony just shakes his head.

"'I married my last partner and we're happy. So don't get any ideas.'" Her smile is infectious at the memory. "Then you said: 'We're partners, which means we share everything. Glory, disgrace, medals, suspensions. So let's try not to screw anything up, okay?'"

He holds his breath for a long moment. Maybe it's just the heat playing with his mind, but the meadow grass has stooped almost down to the touch the earth.

"You're right," he says eventually. "Right now, I'm trying to figure out how the dog fits. I'm trying to figure out everything fits here." He wants to add, _how I fit here too._

She nods. "Is there anything else you're keeping from me?"

Pressing his lips together, he barely shakes his head.

"Good. Then we'll work everything else out later. I've had enough of this soul-baring bullshit anyway. Let's hit the gun range after these cases are over, then drink shots until one of us passes out. Whoever loses is the other's bitch, right?"

When she holds out her hand for him to shake, he does because it feels right in the moment.

"We haven't done that since…" He lets his voice trail off.

Frowning, she fiddles with the engagement right around her neck. "Since before Mark passed."

Tony squeezes her shoulder. "It sounds like we've got a lot to work out. I bet I'll win just like always."

Her grin returns, but the haunted look remains in her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Big D. If I remember correctly, Zoe said you spent two days hungover in bed after our last fight."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"We'll see if you can handle your liquor any better now." Sparr laughs. "Now that we're done hugging it out, let's get back to work. Did you bring a warrant?"

Tony pauses. "I thought you…"

She holds up the palm-sized, grey rock that Tony forgot she had. "This is my warrant."

"Seriously?"

She shoots him a look. "I already talked to the judge. We're locked and loaded."

"Then just don't tell me that you're going to break a window," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Her brow furrows for a moment before she shakes her head. When she flips it over, she slides open a false bottom and pulls out a key. Then she climbs up the stairs and the whole RV shifts to greet her.

"Now for my next trick," she says, unlocking the door.

As soon as the door is open, a cloud of cigarette smoke plumes out. Tony cover his nose with his hand to ward off the smell, but breathing through his mouth doesn't help either. Without anything else to do—or unis to send in first—he and Goliath follow Sparr into the RV. Only a few streaks of light are brave enough to trail them through the open door, sneak through the dirt-slicked window panes. The air is hotter than hell and reeks of piss and sour milk.

_This must be what it feels like to be in a cigarette._

Sparr's flashlight glows in the near darkness, bouncing off of the mounds of trash, newspapers, and old electronics that take up every available inch of space. Only a small footpath, just wide enough to walk toe-to-heel, cuts through the room from front to back.

"Someone was a real neat freak," Sparr mutters.

Tony cocks a grin. "You don't say."

Goliath sniffs the air once, twice before his tail whips wildly against Tony's leg. Since he doesn't feel like being beaten to death by the dog's excitement, Tony drops the leash. Goliath bounds over piles of trash to claim a spot on the threadbare couch. He sticks his face down into the cushions, but neither cop moves to stop him.

"Will you look at that?" Sparr says.

Tony actually laughs. "I'm glad one of us likes it here."

"No, not that." Her flashlight lands on the dog as he pulls out a football-shaped squeaky toy. "The dog's been here before. Did you say that he belonged to our vic?"

"I'm pretty sure that he was Petty Officer Mulroney's."

The shrill squeak of Goliath's toy bounces off every surface in the house before it launches a full-fledged assault on Tony's ears. It's enough to push the dull ache in his head into overdrive.

Sparr lets out a huff as she swings the flashlight back towards what is supposed to be a kitchen counter. Amidst the take out containers full of rotten food and the milk jugs growing scientific specimens, there is a box of dog biscuits. She pops her head under the sink, but Tony doesn't have the stomach to check.

"There isn't any dog food here," she says. "No dog stuff either. Other than the toy and the biscuits."

Tony rubs his temple. "So that means Mulroney and Perkins knew each other."

"In some capacity other than showing up dead in a subway tunnel together."

Nodding, Tony turns his attention to the rest of the RV. "Which part do you want?"

Sparr puts her hands on her hips, surveys the kitchen. "I'll take the bedroom. Want to rock, paper, scissors for the bathroom?"

"Sure."

Tony figures she would be a rock, so he plays paper. He didn't even bother to think how well scissors fit her personality too. She pretend-snips her gloved fingers against the back of his hand.

"Sucks to be you, Big D."

He makes a face as he pulls on his gloves. "Best two out of three?"

But she is already heading to the back of the RV, her flashlight bobbing and weaving through the dark.

Even though the bathroom is still a sight unseen, Tony chooses to start with the lesser of the two evils in the kitchen. He pulls out his own flashlight to peer through the food-stained take out menus and yellowed, crumbling newspapers.

The only interesting thing he turns up are a few overdue library books on American history with a several dog-eared paged. When he flips through them, he learns more information about the development of the FBI, Secret Service, and other government agencies than he ever needed to know. It was probably a little light reading while Perkins waited for the delivery guy to bring him a pizza. As Tony picks through the rest of the junk on the counter, his gut nags him at how out of place the books are.

_Why would someone living in this hovel have them? And how is Perkins tied to the bomb recipes on the jump drive? And what the hell does this have to do with me being here?_

He turns to check the kitchen table, but comes up with nothing. To put off checking the bathroom, Tony decides to peek into the oven. When he touches the door, it falls off its hinges. Pamphlets, books, and loose paper slide into a pile around his feet.

"Shit," he murmurs.

Crouching down, he pulls a flashlight out of his pocket. He picks up a blood-red piece of paper, squints against the dim light to make out the blocky, black text: _The government is trying to take away our civil rights. Are you ready to join the fight to protect our G-d given rights?_

Tony's heart drops.

_Just what we need. Another anti-government whackjob._

He puts the paper aside to fumble through the rest of the pamphlets. As soon as he is done skimming them, he understands why Perkins has those books. Every piece of literature is marked with a black stamp that reads: _PFTC_ and advises their recruits to: _Know their enemy better than they know themselves_. One long-winded rant associating taxation with the loss of civil liberties is signed E. Boress.

_Why does that name keep coming up everywhere?_

Suddenly, the heat of the RV and the staccatoed _squeak-squeak-squeak_ of Goliath's toy become too much to bear. Bile bites the back of his tooth and he is on his feet, ready to bolt out the front door.

But Sparr gasping, "Motherfucker," stops him in his tracks.

Goliath freezes, his eyes focused on the back wall that separates the living quarters from the sleeping. Tony grabs his weapon, rushes towards the bedroom. The dog skips and jumps over the mess to beat Tony to where Sparr is.

Tony bursts into the bedroom, guns blazing.

The bed is pushed up against the wall and all of the dresser drawers with their contents cascading to the floor. Tony has no idea how much of the chaos is from Sparr's 'rip everything apart' search techniques and how much is Perkins' high standard of living. She is nowhere to be found.

Goliath stands beside him, ball in his mouth with his attention whipping everywhere. Then he darts into an open closet door.

"Sparr, is everything okay?" Tony calls quietly.

"Yeah, just…" Her voice trails off. "You've got to see this."

So Tony sneaks closer on the balls of his feet with his gun at the ready. He peers into the closet to find Sparr kneeling on the ground by an open trapdoor. Goliath licks the side of her jeans while she ignores him.

Tony holsters his gun. "What have we got?"

"A shitload of weapons." She looks up at him, eyes wide. "The false bottom underneath the romm is full of them. It's enough for a small army. What the hell could Perkins be doing with them?"

He relays everything he found in the kitchen.

She makes a face. "So he isn't just a hoarder, but a whackjob too."

"Seems that way."

She chases the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. "Do you think that has anything to do with the dead Navy guy?"

"Damned if I know." He sighs. "But whatever it is, it can't be good."

As she stands up, Sparr puts her hands on her hips as though she wants to see her discovery from another angle. Her face pulls with disgust and she looks away.

Tony pulls out his cell phone. His instincts still scream for him to call Gibbs and wait for the MCRT—with Tim in tow—to clear the scene. The crime scene just doesn't feel right without them by his side. As great a partner and as remarkable a detective as Sparr is, she just isn't what he needs right now. He needs his team. Otherwise, trying to make sense of the convoluted situation might as well be like trying to swim for the surface in water that's as blacker than the dead of night.

Sparr tilts her head. "Are you calling the ATF?"

"The ATF? Why?" he repeats.

"To catalog what we found. There isn't much we can do here until they've cleared the scene for us." She mutters what sounds like a curse. "Now, we've got to deal with the ATF on top of NCIS. If we're not careful, we're going to have the whole fucking government in the middle of our case."

Tony can't help but laugh. "I doubt Perkins would like that."

"I don't either." She reaches for her cell phone, hits a number on speed dial. "Oh hey, Highkin…yeah, it's Andrea. Long time, no talk…yeah, I know it's been a long time. A really long time…no, sorry, I'm not calling for another date right now. I've got something that you need to see at a crime scene. Buncha guns, think you could bring a team and some discretion?" She rattles off her and Tony's location quickly. "Yeah, thanks. I'll see you again soon and we'll…talk about dinner." After she ends the call, she gives her phone the middle finger. "Like hell we will, you asshole."

Tony's eyebrows jump. "Ex-boyfriend?"

"The first one night stand after Mark," she says unapologetically. "I met him at a course on explosives and thought we hit it off. Turns out he was a jerk and I realized it too late. Grief made me stupid for a long time, but you already knew that."

He has the grace not to press for more information and Sparr isn't interested in talking about it.

"He'll be here in twenty," she says simply.

Tony nods. "Then let's make sure there isn't anything we missed."

They leave Goliath and his squeaky toy to guard the cache of weapons. Sparr and Tony fall into well-rehearsed movements to clear the rest of the house and as they work in silence together, he is surprised how natural how it might feel to have her by his side. It's something that he thinks, maybe with enough time he could get used to. Every so often, Tony holds up something, but a quick shake of Sparr's head is enough to tell him to move on, to find something better. By the time they're done clearing the house, they've turned up nothing new.

They end up sitting outside, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the porch steps, under the blazing sun. Goliath rolls around in the dirt, alternating between growling at his toy and panting like his life depends on it and begging Sparr for belly rubs.

It isn't until the sun starts to dip lower in the sky and their shadows retreat towards the woods that a convoy of black SUVs make their way down the drive. A truck labeled _Bomb Squad_ pulls up the rear.

Sparr lets out a hiss. "Figures he'd take his sweet time to get here."

"It's only been – " Tony checks his watch "—an hour, Sparr. He probably had to get everything together."

"Whatever." She undoes the top button of her shirt as she rises from her seat. "You know, Tony, I bet it's going to take a while for them to do whatever the hell they need to do. Why don't you go home to your family for a few hours? I can call you as soon as Highkin is done." She looks down at him. "We're going to solve this case, no matter what."

He stands up, wipes the loose dirt from his pants. "I'll stay."

"Trust me, it'll be easier this way."

Before Tony has a chance to speak, the driver's door to the lead SUV opens. A tall, muscular man wearing a pair of Aviator sunglasses and a dour expression slides out. With hair as black as his suit, he is every bit the stereotypical G-man that Tony grew to hate at NCIS. Tony hums the theme song to _Men in Black_ to himself. The moment the man's eyes land on Sparr, his veneer cracks.

"Andrea Sparr as I live and breathe. I never thought I'd hear from you again," he says, voice booming. "It must be a cold day in hell for you to call."

"Maybe I just missed you, Highkin." She plasters on a grin that could win an Academy Award. His lips twitch. "Or I just got something good that I thought might be nice to share." Then she jerks her head towards Tony. "Meet my partner, Tony DiNozzo. DiNozzo, Alistair Highkin."

His eyes narrow at Tony, but he offers a handshake that nearly crushes every bone in Tony's hand. "Nice to meet you, DeNiro." Tony doesn't say anything as Highkin continues: "Thanks for the call, Andrea. The boys and I will take it from here."

"You know, I was thinking maybe I could stick around and learn a thing or two?" She rolls her hips as she draws closer to him. "You still owe me breakfast after last time."

Highkin's mouth drops. "Um…yeah, sure. And…your partner, De – "

"His kid's just got sick, so it looks like you're stuck with me." Her lips part in a seductive smile. "Just me."

Highkin barely tears his eyes off her long enough to glance at Tony, who chokes out: "Ye-yeah, my daughter, Riley, has the stomach bug that's going around. You know how kids are...always getting sick."

"Of course," Highkin replies like he has no idea. "Sorry to hear about your kid, Detective DeNiro. Hope she feels better soon."

One sideways wink from Tony is enough to tell him that Sparr has everything under control here, that she'll do whatever the hell it takes to get the next lead, that she might just sacrifice everything to solve this case first. He offers her a small wave, a small thank you for being the one to do the scut work so he can live his life because she already lost hers.

"I'll call you as soon as they're done, DiNozzo," she promises.

"See you later, Sparr." Then he jerks on Goliath's leash. "Let's go home."

At the word _home,_ the dog's ears perk up and his body goes rigid. He picks up his chew toy and darts for the van, pulling the leash taut as he goes. The sudden movement surprises Tony and he drops the leash. He is just about to chase down the mutt, but Goliath stops at the side of the van, whining and yipping at the possibility of where they're going.

The hint of a smile flirts with Tony's lips. He likes the sound of going home too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got some more family time with the DiNozzos coming up in the next chapter before the case takes over again.


	23. Chapter 23

**3:12pm – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

"We can't keep him, Spider," Zoe whispers.

"I know." Tony half-nods. "We're just holding him as a witness for NCIS."

She crosses her arms, huffs. "Yeah, sure. I bet we are."

Slumped against the wall, he turns to watch Goliath and Phoebe play on the living room floor. In the sea of baby toys and Barbie dolls and plastic cars, the pair are actively engaged in a game of keep away with a beat-to-hell squeaky football and a gnawed up Barbie. Every time Phoebe offers her doll to Goliath, he goes to steal it and she reaches for his ball. Once he understands the rouse, he collapses back onto his toy and growls. Phoebe howls with laughter.

"It looks like they're having fun," Tony says.

"They probably are. It still doesn't matter because we're not keeping him." Her eyes narrow at the scene. "No matter how much you want a dog."

His eyebrows jump. "Who said I want one?"

"You did when you wrote up a list of pros and cons about why it was important for Riley to have a dog. You said if you had one you probably never would've ended up in boarding school."

"Ah, I – uh – guess I forgot about that."

Smirking, Zoe wraps her arm around his waist as she pulls him so they're hip-to-hip. "It was cute how hard you tried, but remember our compromise."

Tony tilts his head, eyeing the full view he has of Zoe's ample cleavage. For a moment, he thinks they might've come to some carnal agreement to take his mind off of wanting a dog. Because nothing worked better back home to get a woman in bed than to bring up the hole in his heart left from the lack of a family pet. A night of passion now fills the void better than that bowl of sea monkeys ever did.

Nuzzling the crook of her neck, he gets drunk off her scent. It's a mix of baby powder, spaghetti sauce, and that old perfume he used to smell in their squad car. Desperation and ass-whooping, she used to say it was, but he eventually found a bottle of something expensive and French in her locker.

Zoe twist her body to put herself between Tony and the wall. Her eyes darken with desire as she looks up, searching, anticipating, lus –

At that moment, Phoebe lets out something between a cheer and a shriek.

Zoe darts out from underneath him. Tony pitches forward, his face bouncing off a framed picture before he even knows what's going on. Rubbing his forehead, he checks on the commotion in the living room.

Phoebe lays flat on her back with Goliath standing on top of her. His tongue hangs to the floor as he licks her face mercilessly. Not knowing what to do, Phoebe alternates between screaming bloody murder and coughing into her deep belly, baby laugh. Zoe hovers over them, trying to figure out the best way to extricate her daughter from being licked to death.

"I'm coming, Phoebs," she says, raw fear dripping from her voice.

Whenever she goes to scoop Phoebe up, Zoe shies away as though she is about to be electrocuted.

And Tony remembers that fear of dogs she briefly mentioned once when they were about to take down a crack house in Philly. The barking of the dogs inside had sent her to hide in the squad car while he and a group of officers made the arrests.

_She's afraid of dogs for G-d's sake._

So Tony scoops Phoebe up.

Her dark curls, slick with dog slobber, stick out at random angles. Muddy paw prints and trailer-park dirt mar her light purple onsie. Her dark eyes go wide with excitement and she reaches to grab Tony's nose with her hand. Her grip is strong enough to hurt, but he doesn't move.

"Dadadadada," she rambles as she bounces in his arms.

Happiness bubbles up inside Tony's chest. Just as he goes to hug her tighter, Zoe swoops into to steal the baby from him.

"Oh Phoebs, that doogie got you filthy." She fixes her glare at Goliath, who just cranes his neck up to howl at her. So she gently pushes him away with her foot. "Bath time for you, little lady."

Phoebe holds her arms out, stretches after Tony. "Dadadada…da!"

He just stands there like a nonfunctional mute, dumbfounded as he stares at his daughter. He'll never get use to the thoughts rolling around his brain. The thoughts that tell him that this tiny human belongs to him in some strange way, that helped make her, that he's responsible for her, that he wants nothing more than to protect her from the evils of this world. That he might just love her.

And as much as he wants to savor the moment, he knows that it isn't meant for him. Guilt rages within him as he wonders what happened to the person meant to be here. Riley and Phoebe's real father. While that man is lost somewhere, Tony is busy stealing another man's children, another man's wife, another man's life.

Tony swallows hard.

_Does it make me a bad person that I might want this for myself?_

"Earth to Spider," Zoe calls, peering around the corner to the bathroom.

Tony shakes his head. "Yeah, Keates?"

"Did you hear anything I just said?" When he rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly, her look turns even more murderous. "I told you to take Riley and that dog to the park or something. Just get them out of the house. Tell her I'm letting her off of house arrest early."

He chuckles. "What did she do this time?"

"Ask her yourself."

With that, Zoe disappears around the corner. A split-second later, the bathroom door slams closed. There's a dull thud somewhere deeper in the house, likely from Riley's room.

"Knock it off Riley Jean!" Zoe screams from the bathroom.

The house goes as silent as a grave. Tony waits until he hears the water start running in the bathroom before he glances down at Goliath.

"Want to meet Riley?" he asks.

At the sound of her name, the dog tilts his head so that his tongue lolls to the hardwood floor.

Tony laughs. "I'll take that as a yes. Come on, let's go."

As Tony heads to the hallway, Goliath darts into the toy pile. He drags Phoebe's chewed up Barbie a few feet before he seems to realize that it isn't his ball. After he grabs his football, he follows Tony. His nails _click-clack_ ing against the floor and his ball squeaking the entire way.

Tony eases Riley's bedroom door open. "Hey Rookie."

"Dad!?" she calls. "You're back?"

Her disembodied face appears in the pile of her stuffed animals in the corner of her room. She goes as still as one of her toys as her wide eyes cautiously study him. It only takes a moment for her excitement to fade. Sighing quietly, she disappears back under her plush sea.

Tony picks his way across the room, careful not to step on any errant Barbie shoe or doll or whatever the hell the tiny pink blocks are. In less than a day, she somehow managed to destroy the tiny space by pulling every toy and book out of its proper place and dumping all of her clothes out of the dresser. The rampage looks a hell of a lot like the one that got him sent to military school. The one he had right after his mother died.

He chooses a spot on the wall, closest to the stuffed animals, but farthest away from Riley. Then he sits, cross-legged, on the hard floor.

"We got a dog," Tony says as soothingly as he can, even though his heart races.

Riley's face appears next to a stuffed cow. "My dad would never let me get a dog. Mom hates them."

"Your mom says we can't keep him forever, but I thought it would be fun for a while."

She comes up for air, teddy bears and horses and pigs tumbling down from her shoulders. She tucks her hair behind her ears, then rubs her fingers across her knuckles. Her smile is pitying, struggling.

Tipping his head back, Tony stares up at the ceiling. Pale green, tiny plastic stars cling to world overhead and he bets that when they turn off the lights, the view rivals that of the Milky Way. It makes him feel like nothing matters anymore, not even himself.

"Matty gave them to me for my birthday," Riley says. "My dad and me, we put them up together. Matty said I messed up all the constellations, but I don't care. I like them where they are."

Tony smiles. "You made your own constellations, huh?"

"Yeah, we did."

Tony just stares up at them, trying to figure out what he would name the blocky, plastic stars if he were the one to put them up. He calls the heart _Keates,_ the giant 'X' _Gibbs,_ the arrow _McGee,_ and the chaotic splattering _Abby_. And for a moment, he is nearly homesick. But those names are probably nothing compared to what Riley and her dad chose. He wishes that he could find himself somewhere in the mess, but he just doesn't fit anywhere.

Eventually, Riley pats Tony's knee.

Blinking, he fumbles to gaze at her. She sits cross-legged by his side, looking up at the constellations too. Tear stains graze her ruddy cheeks, but she makes no attempt to hide them. Even though he wants nothing more than to chase them away, it would be too weird for the both of them.

"You're a lot like my dad," she says, so quietly that it's almost to herself. "He tries really hard to be the best dad and the best detective ever. I hope you get to meet him someday. You'd like him." She hugs her knees to her chest, steals a glance at Tony. "And I think he'd like you too."

He hazards a small smile in an attempt to ward off the emptiness that swallows him.

When he finds his voice again, he murmurs: "I'd like that."


	24. Chapter 24

**4:10pm – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Riley and Tony sit in silence for a long time, staring at the make-believe night sky. He tries to connect the tiny, green dots as though it could help him make sense of where he fits into the universe. By the door, Goliath abandons his squeaky toy in favor of gnawing on his tail. When he gets bored, he waddles over to join them. Riley absently rubs Goliath's back.

"So what do you say, Rookie? Want to go to the park for a little bit?" Tony plasters on his brightest smile, even though the little girl sees right through it. "We can get ice cream after."

"I'm under house arrest." Her face darkens. " _Again."_

"Your mom says I can bail you out. If you promise to behave." He tilts his head, eyeing the mess in her room. "So what are you in for?"

"I showed Phoebe my gun."

He gapes at her. "Your what?"

"The gun my dad gave me so I could keep everyone safe when he's at work." Excitement works its way across her face. "Want to see it?"

Tony half-nods distractedly, realizing he probably won't win the father of the year award here either. When she hops up to run to her nightstand, he slowly pushes himself to his feet. His knees scream at the sudden change in position and Tony takes slow steps to stretch out the ligaments. By the time he joins his daughter, she has pulled out a tiny plastic revolver.

_It's just a cap gun. Oh, thank G-d that I'm not a shit father like I thought._

She plucks out a plastic bag of bright orange caps, then grins up at him. As she shows him how to load her 'gun,' she tells him each step in vast detail.

"See? Isn't it so cool?" she says.

Before Tony has a chance to stop her, she pulls the trigger and a loud _pop_ shakes the windows. Goliath dives headlong into the pile of stuffed animals; his trembling tail the only part of him still sticking out.

"Yeah, real neat," Tony sputters, "you might want to put that away before – "

He shuts up as soon as Zoe appears in the doorway. She holds a towel-clad and bubble covered, sniffling Phoebe on her hip. When she glares them down, he wilts under her stare. Unfazed, Riley starts to pile some of the clothes on the floor onto her bed in a half-hearted attempt to clean up her room.

"You two, go to the park! Go outside! Just go do something!" Zoe bellows. Goliath, ears up and alert, peers out from his hiding spot as though he's just been invited to stay. "And take that mutt with you!"

After Zoe swoops away with Phoebe, Tony holds his hand out for Riley's cap gun. She won't even look at him as she hands over her treasure.

"How am I going to keep everyone safe now?" she murmurs, shoulders sagging.

Tony ruffles her hair and this time, she doesn't recoil. "You don't need guns. You just need outsmart the dirt bags. They're usually not that bright."

"Dirt bags," she repeats carefully. "I like the sound of that."

Biting his lip, Tony realizes that teaching her a new word was most definitely a mistake. All she needs to do is let that fly in front of Zoe and he'll be sleeping in the van. While Riley repeats the word to herself, Tony heads to his and Zoe's bedroom to lock the cap gun in his gun case. He lingers over his Glock for a few moments, but reminds himself that they're just going to the park, not to a crime scene.

Tony finds Riley outside her room, waiting for him. She already has her sneakers on and Goliath's leash in her hand. The dog has abandoned his squeaky football for a stuffed lime green hedgehog.

Tony reaches for it. "Goliath's got your – "

"I said he could have it," Riley says, smiling. "Grampy DiNozzo gave it to me last year, but I never liked it. It smelled like smoke and old ladies."

Tony decides not to tell her that weird probably is a mishmash of perfumes from his stepmoms du jour. If his father here is anything like the one he had back home, Tony probably has thousands of women in the DC area alone ready to play Grandma to his kids.

"Let's go," he says instead, "before your mom kills us both."

Riley nods sagely. "She said she knows how to kill me without leaving a trace. She said the police would think it was natural causes. I think she only said it to scare me."

A bemused smile rises to his face. "Did it work?"

Her lips purse as she wavers. "Not really…"

"Trust me, she isn't lying."

Riley stops dead, eyes panicked. "Really?"

Half-smiling, Tony considers what Zoe said earlier about being a united front against the children. Or maybe that was the old Zoe and they were supposed to be a united front against the evils of Washington. He isn't sure anymore as his worlds are starting to blend together. But something about supporting whatever the hell lie Zoe said to keep Riley in line just feels right.

So he goes with it. "Yeah. Why do you think she isn't a cop anymore?"

Riley remains silent the whole way through the rest of the house. Her body is rigid and she rolls on the balls of her feet as she sneaks past the bathroom door where Zoe finishes Phoebe's bath.

She doesn't breathe until she is safely outside in the blazing sun. The air is thick and heavy with a smothering humidity that makes Tony instantly regret leaving the air conditioning. Even though his shadow stretches towards evening, the temperature feels hotter than it did at Michael Perkins' house. Tony puts on his Aviator sunglasses, but they don't help. Goliath's waddle slows to almost nothingness and Riley practically drags him to the van.

On his way to the car, Tony walks right past Tim.

"Hey neighbor," Tim calls, "what are you two up to?"

Shaking the heat from his muddled brain, Tony tries to focus. It's as though the last dredges of caffeine just vanished from his blood stream, leaving him exhausted and jet lagged.

He slowly meanders over to the hedge that separates his driveway from his neighbor's. The portion that is on Tim's side is neatly sculpted to a perfect ninety-degree angle while Tony's is overgrown with random clumps sticking out chaotically.

Still wearing his work jeans and button down shirt, Tim whacks at his side of the foliage with clippers like he channels Edward Scissorhands. Based on the giant divot in front of Tim, Tony doubts it's going well. Tim scowls at the bush, gives it another good _clip._ A fist-sized pile of leaves flutter to the ground.

Further behind Tim in the front yard, Matty is crouched by a huge cardboard box, laundry basket, five rolls of tin foil, and a huge pile of knobs and switches. He lays out a huge piece of foil over the box, careful not to crinkle the edges. If Tony didn't know better, he might think Matty were building an oven. Riley leaves Goliath, who lies on the asphalt and pants like he is about to die, to shimmy through an opening in the hedge and join Matty.

"Riley and I were just about to go to the park," Tony says. "Busy trimming your bush, huh?"

Tim shoots him a dirty look. Tony chuckles.

"I find landscaping very calming," Tim replies, sounding like it's anything but.

Not sure how to reply, Tony just nods.

"But I left a dent in the bush last night when I tried to take Delilah's car and – " _clip-clip-clip_ " – now, I can't get it right."

Tony half-smiles. "You know it probably would be good enough for the Knights Who Say Ni."

"Very funny," Tim says flatly.

He leans over to check the angulation before he stands back up and shakes his head. Sweat sprouts to Tim's brow and Tony wants to tell him to just relax, to just chill the fuck out. But given the giant hedge clippers in Tim's hands, it just doesn't seem prudent. Tony pushes a piece of his hedge to Tim's side and his neighbor hacks at it with a crazed look in his eye.

"Ni," Tony blurts out.

Tim just stares at him.

Desperate to change the subject from untamable shrubs and the bearded knights who love them, Tony points towards the kids. "What is Matty doing over there?"

"I'm building a space shuttle, Mr. D!" Matty yells. "Riley and I are going into outer space to beat the heat! Did you know one of Saturn's moons has an ice volcano?"

Taken aback, Tony has no idea how to respond. So he shouts: "I do now!"

Matty lets out a whoop. "Me and Riley are going to have so much fun on Titan!"

With a thumbs up and a goofy grin, Matty turns back to showing Riley his project. Together, they dig through a huge pile of controls, knobs, and switches. She holds one up, but he shakes his head.

"Matty has Delilah's hearing." Tim quirks a grin. "There are no secrets in the McGee house."

"I can only imagine." Tony shifts his weight as he asks: "So did you make any other progress in the case yet? Crack any of those codes on Gibbs' jump drive?"

Glowering, Tim attacks another piece of hedge. It ends up even more lopsided than before. He grits his teeth, his jaw muscle as tight as a spring. When he tries to even it out, clippings fly like they're part of a green blizzard.

_I'll take that a no._

Tony takes a full step back.

"I used my original code, but – " _clip-clip-clip_ " – that got me nothing other than the name Michael Perkins. So I – " _whack-whack_ " – adapted it, but that didn't go anywhere either. To fix it, I had to – " _hack-hack-hack_ " – start over. From scratch with a brand new code running on different parameters. It's running right now and I'm praying that we get something useful."

"I'm sure we will, Tim." Tony tries to keep his tone even and calm. "If not, Sparr and I will turn up something that'll close the case. Remember that you aren't the only one working it."

Tim freezes at the statement and drops the clippers. The sunlight dances off the perspiration that mates his hair is matted against his head.

"You don't understand, Tony. I'm this close." He holds his index finger and thumb millimeters apart. "I might not know exactly what it says, but I do know that jump drive has a list of names and contact information on it. And I intend to get that information off of there."

Tony tilts his head. "How do you know that?"

"I've been doing this long enough to know what it looks like. Name, addresses, phone numbers. I just know that it's all on there." Crossing his arms, Tim glances out at the street. Tony follows his friend's line of sight and it's empty except for an SUV parked a few houses down. "The only thing I don't know is if it's the suppliers, the middle men, or the bomb makers. All I know is whatever it is, they aren't good people."

"We'll figure it out, Tim. You know that police work takes time."

"True." Tim hazards a small smile. "But we don't usually deal with issues of national security."

"And we've working with NCIS as well as the ATF to make sure we find those guys." Tony leaves out the part about the guns he and Sparr discovered earlier because he figures that might just send Tim over the edge. "Not to mention whomever killed John Doe, which is our case."

Tim's jerky nods seem to soothe him as he lets himself relax ever so slightly.

Before he can reply, Matty yells, "Hey Dad, Riley and Mr. D are going to the park! Can we go too?"

"I don't see why not," Tony says, matching Tim's small smile. "It might be nice to get our minds off of work for once? Maybe play some kickball?"

Tim shakes his head. "We do have to talk about the co-ed little league team. Try-outs start next month. How's your throwing arm been?"

Tony blinks. "Uh, good?"

"Great, you had us and the other coaches worried after that suspect dislocated your shoulder back in March. You kept saying that you'd never pitch again." Tim's grin broadens. "I'm glad to hear that you were just being a drama queen like Zoe said."

"Uh…yeah. Me too."

"Can we go, Dad?" Matty whines. "Please!"

"As soon as you clean up the yard!" Tim yells before turning back to Tony. "I'm going to go grab our gloves. Do you mind driving?"

"Yeah, sure," Tony says absently.

While Tim heads up the driveway into his garage, Tony tries to remember the last time he played catch. Hell, he is pretty sure he hasn't held a baseball since he snuck out of gym class early junior year of high school to score with a cheerleader. He stretches his throwing arm, but the muscles are tight from years of misuse.

Matty takes to dragging his rocket ship to the porch where it ends up abandoned between the flower boxes brimming with flagging pansies and the lazy sage green porch swing. He transfers all of his switches—light switches and oven controls and car climate buttons by the looks of them—into the laundry basket. Then he covers everything with an electric blue tarp.

Riley cuts across the yard, ducks through the path in the bush to stop by Tony's side. She snatches Goliath's leash as though he suddenly became a flight risk, but he is busy snoring and yipping at the imaginary squirrels in his dreams.

"My dad pitches for the police league," Riley whispers. "He's really good. He strikes out like everybody. My mom takes us to all of his games."

Tony rubs the back of his neck. "No pressure."

She giggles, then drops her voice even further. "Don't worry. You can't be as bad as Mr. McGee. They only let him stand in the outfield."

"Riley, that's not nice."

"It's true!"

He narrows his eyes at her. "But still."

"My dad always says it doesn't matter if you're good as long as you like doing it. And Mr. McGee really, _really_ likes playing baseball but – " her little nose crinkles " – he stinks at it."

Tony rolls his eyes, but lets it go. "Where are our gloves?"

"In the van. My dad keeps everything in the van."

When he opens the trunk, Tony finds that Riley is right. Her father keeps everything that he could ever possibly need—and a bunch of stuff that he would never use—in the trunk. Underneath the open package of diapers and workout clothes and plastic toys, Tony finds the noisemaker Terrence gave him days ago. Careful not to use it, he slides under the seat because he just isn't ready go back home…if the other world is even his home. He still thinks there's so much for him to discover here.

After digging through more stuff than he owns back home—Tony is beginning to believe his alter ego might be a hoarder—he unearths an adult-sized and a child-sized pair of tan baseball gloves. The leather is soft and pliant, beat into submission from a shared love of the sport. He nestles the tiny glove into the larger one as he climbs into the driver's seat. Riley is already in the backseat, giving Goliath a pep talk about how he's going to be the best guard dog in the world when she gets done with him.

Moments later, Matty slides into the seat next to Riley.

When Tim finally joins them, he has changed into a navy t-shirt and well-worn jeans. He hops into the passenger seat and passes everyone a bottled water. Tony nods his thanks, then down the icy liquid. It's more refreshing than any single malt he has ever had before.

Tony taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "Who's ready to go?"

Matty and Riley cheer and Goliath howls when he puts the car in gear. Even though they're only going across the neighborhood, Tony considers himself lucky that the kids seem to think it's one of the most exciting places on earth.

As they go, Tim rambles on about his plans for the co-ed little league team. He did, after all, have to receive special permission for girls to play with boys. But since turnout for the girls' softball league didn't do too well last year, the neighborhood was quick to acquiesce to his request.

In the rear view mirror, Tony notices the SUV that was parked across the street start following them.

Gibbs' Rule 27—"There are two ways to follow someone. First way, they never notice you. Second way, they _only_ notice you."—floats through Tony's head. He chases it away as quickly as it came. He doesn't have to follow Gibbs blindly anymore. Right here and right now, he is going to spend time having fun and relax. Because here, there is more to his life than work.

When he pulls into the parking lot at the community park, the SUV continues straight down the street and hangs a right at the next stop sign. Tony shakes his head at his own paranoia.

It was just another car that happened to be taking a similar route. Another car, that's all.

After he pulls the van into the nearest parking space, Tony slides out into the thick, stagnant air. Angry, black storm clouds loom along the southern horizon, ready to sneak up on the pale, blue sky.

The tip of Tim's head appears over the top of the van.

"It looks like rain," he says. "That probably explains why no one's here."

"Yeah." Tony nods. "Hopefully, it'll hold out long enough for Zoe to calm down."

Tim laughs. "If not, we can always go to Chuck E. Cheese."

"What's that?"

Tim shoots him a strange look. "The place with the video games and pizza. You always suggest we go there because the mouse freaks Zoe out."

"Oh, you said Chuck E. Cheese. Sorry, I thought you said something else."

The furrow in Tim's brow deepens, but he doesn't say anything.

Undeterred by the heat and humidity, Riley and Matty barrel out from the van's back seat like they're being released in public for the first time in their lives. They rip in the park, destined for the open soccer fields clear on the other side.

"I bet you can't catch me, Matty!" Riley yells, mockingly. "I'm faster than you! Faster than a rocket!"

"Yeah, right!" Matty whoops. "Watch your back! I'm going to get you!"

Goliath lumbers out of the car, nearly falling flat on his face as he jumps out of the seat. Then he sprints as fast as his stubby legs will carry him after them.

"Matty!" Tim bellows.

About twenty feet away, Matty stops dead, breathing hard. Riley keeps going, laughing and cheering at her head start. Matty's wide eyes flit anxiously between his father and his friend, clearly unsure who is more important at this very moment. His shoulders sag as he doubles back.

"Sorry, Dad!" he yells. "What's up?"

Tim turns up a kick ball in the flotsam of Tony's van, then tosses it to Matty. "Stay where I can see you, Matt. It's probably going to storm soon."

"Will do, Dad," Matty says, smiling that Probie-Tim-smile of his. "You know what, I'm going to show Riley some of those moves that Mom taught me last weekend."

Without waiting for Tim's blessing, Matty sprints back towards Riley's side. About half-way across one of the soccer fields, she lays flat on her back in the grass. Goliath wiggles around her like worm on a hook, his tail wagging and flicking as he sniffs her face. Her laughter carries all the way back to the van.

The hint of a smile pulls at Tony's lips.

He always wondered what it would've been like if he had the chance to laugh like that as a kid. After his mother died, he doesn't remember laughing much, if ever. Hell, he barely remembers much before her death and most things that happened in military boarding school were distinctly unfunny. Unless you consider being hazed by a bunch of upperclassmen to be hilarious.

At that moment, Tim appears by Tony's side. He holds up two baseball gloves and a baseball.

"Feel like playing catch?" Tim asks, his face hopeful.

Tony shrugs. "Why not?"

They end up halfway between the van and where the kids are playing Monkey in the Middle with Goliath. Even though it doesn't seem fair to make a dachshund the monkey, the three laugh and carry on like they're having the time of their lives.

Tony's experience with catch is just the opposite.

If Tim were bad at kickball, he is downright abysmal at baseball. More of his throws end up going wild than in Tony's glove. He lets loose a constant barrage of nervous laughs and _I'm sorry's_ and _I swear I'll be better by the time I'm teaching the kids how to throw._ Tony just rolls his eyes, trudges back towards the van to get the ball while he offers Tim advice on how to snap his arm, not his wrist.

Another pitch, another ball trying to escape Tony's glove.

Sighing, Tony gives up on jogging after it. He is already sweating through his shirt by now and he is pretty sure he reeks to high heaven. He ambles to where the ball is buried in a pile of grass.

"You know, Tim," Tony says, "I think it'll be better if you let me show the team how to throw." When Tim doesn't reply, Tony sighs again. "Maybe you could teach fielding? I bet you'd be good at picking up a ground ball, right?"

Suddenly, Tim yells, "Matty! Riley! Run!"

The hair on the back of Tony's neck stands on end as he whips around. And it all happens so slowly that Tony is convinced for a moment that the world must've stopped.

The SUV that followed them earlier is parked by the soccer fields. Three huge men wearing black tactical gear and black ski masks slowly sneak towards Matty and Riley, who are still busy playing with Goliath.

Tim is off like a shot, trying to intercept them.

When Tony recovers a split second later, he knows that he's already too late. But he sprints towards them anyway. His knees scream from the years of abuse and extra weight as his feet slap against the ground. Despite digging as deep as he can into his reserves, he still isn't nearly as fast as Tim.

"Get to the woods! Now!" Tim yells.

Matty turns back towards his father, while Riley turns towards the men. They stand there frozen for a long moment and Tony's heart flip-flops in his chest. Then Riley grabs Matty's hand and drags the boy into the small patch of trees. The darkness of the woods swallows them whole.

Just as the men start after the children, Tim catches up to them.

"Hey!" Tony sputters desperately. "Police! Stop!"

Instead of waiting for Tony, Tim launches into a desperate attempt to keep the men from the children. But three against one are never fair odds. Even though Tim lands a few solid punches, one manages to get the drop on him. All it takes is one sucker punch to the throat to end what fight he had. Gasping for air, Tim drops to his knees. An elbow to the back of his head sends him sprawling to the ground, unconscious. One of the men grabs Tim's arm and drags him back towards the SUV.

"Freeze!" Tony yells. "Police!"

To his own ears, it sounds pathetic and pointless.

The men backtrack to the SUV with Tim in tow. Even after they bundle him into the backseat and climb into the vehicle, they don't leave right away. It's almost like they wait for Tony to catch up to them. Despite not knowing what they're about to do, Tony barrels towards them at full-speed.

He doesn't stop until he notices the gun pointing at him from the passenger window.

Tony squares his shoulders, daring them to shoot him.

"Let my friend go," Tony growls. _"Now!"_

"As soon as we get it back." The man's voice is as rough as sandpaper.

"It? What is _it_?"

The man just grins underneath his ski mask. "We'll be in touch, Detective DiNozzo."

The way his name rolls off the man's tongue—like they're old friends—sends Tony's heart straight into his throat. When he takes a step forward, the man rolls up his window and the SUV rockets down the street. Tony just stands there, watching it, trying to capture as many details as he can to be a reliable eyewitness. He balls his hands into fists.

_What the fuck do I have to go on?_

Black anonymous SUV with no license plates. Three big, burly men with black ski masks and tactical gear. Organized and professional, but why? Whoever the hell they are, they know him, know something about the case. Whatever the hell is going on, it's personal.

Tony whips out his cell phone to call Sparr.

She answers on the first ring. "Look, Big D. If you expect me to get the drop on Highkin, you need to give me some time to work my magic."

"They took him," he yelps.

She instantly goes on high-alert. "Who? They took who?"

"Tim." He swallows hard. "They took Tim."

It takes what feels like forever before she responds. "Who did?"

"I-I-I don't know." He runs his hand through his hair, feeling paranoid and deranged. "They…they knew who I was. They followed us from my house to the park. Oh my G-d, the kids."

"I'll be there in twenty, Tony. Don't go anywhere."

Even though the line goes dead, he doesn't register that she already hung up. He relays his location, begs for back-up as he sprints into the woods. His sneakers slip over fallen branches, bits of moss, and rotting leaves left behind from last fall. The leaves and branches are thick and lush, licking and smacking at his face as he dives deeper into the woods in search for Riley and Matty.

_If anything happened to them…I don't know what I'll do._

In the underbrush, he discovers two pair of children's footprints sunken into the mud. Thankfully, their only companion is a set of tiny paw prints.

Tony hangs a hard left, follows them towards a break in the tree line.

Suddenly, a hard smack to the back of his right knee sends him to the ground. Clutching his bad knee, he rolls onto his back and readies to fight off his attacker.

Riley floats over him, holding a huge branch over her head like an ax. As soon as she recognizes him, she drops her weapon and the fearlessness vanishes from her face. Fat tears well in her eyes as her lower lip trembles.

"Are you okay, Rookie?" Tony asks. "Are you – "

"Daddy," she murmurs. "Daddy."

Tony scrambles to his knees, holds his arms open. She collapses to his chest. Tiny sobs wrack her body as she holds onto him as though he is the only thing that could save her from drowning. Her tears soak through at his shirt and he cups a hand to the back of her head, trying his best to soothe her.

Behind her, Matty emerges from hiding behind a tree. He clutches Goliath to his chest like a shield. The dog growls at Tony, teeth bared, until he recognizes Tony. Then his tail wags and he yips excitedly.

Matty's eyes are wide, haunted, as they glance around the woods for someone who isn't coming.

"Mr. D," he whispers, "what happened to my dad?"


	25. Chapter 25

**7:48pm – Ronald Regan Community Park, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Standing at the edge of the soccer field, Tony watches a group of unis sweep the parking lot and the sun-dried for field grass for any scrap of evidence. Sparr is right on their heels, barking orders like a drill sergeant. Her keen eyes are glued to the ground as though she might miss something if she looks up.

Tony fiddles with his hands, desperately aching to just do something. Anything.

Sparr told him to go home when Zoe came to pick up the kids. Go get some rest, she suggested. She promised to call as soon as they had something useful.

But Tony never was one to walk away in the middle of an investigation.

Even though he's been benched—nothing more than a witness, Sparr said, because the brass decided he was too close to the case—he still can't leave. When she does discover a clue, he knows they stand to lose precious minutes in the time that it would take for her to call him. So he chooses to haunt the space between the squad cars and the investigation like the ghost of a washed up federal agent.

_Like it could make them work any faster._

Tony attempts a steadying breath. He uses his foot to decapitate a rogue dandelion. It explodes on contact, sending its white seeds skirting away in the hot, humid breeze. They float, twirl, and dance like drunken ballerinas as they race to close the distance between him and Sparr.

She glances up, holds her hand high to shield her eyes against the dying sun. Her smile is quick and tight. Tony wants it to be reassuring, but it just says that they're coming up empty so far.

That they both know there isn't anything here.

Tony works his hands into sweaty fists.

Before he has a chance to ask her what he can do—again—his cell jingles.

The world suddenly jolts to a stop and he is the only one left on the face of Earth. He scrambles to get to the message as though it could spontaneously combust before he reads it.

It's just a text from Zoe, _Everything'll be okay, Spider. Have faith in Sparr and yourself. Just in case you come home, the girls and I will be at the McGee's tonight. Delilah didn't want to be alone. Come by later, if you feel up for it. I love you. And I know exactly what you're thinking, but none of this is your fault._

Then a split second later, _PS – That dog is at home._

Tony chuckles humorlessly at his phone as he slides it away without replying.

How could Zoe say that it wasn't his fault?

If he had been a split second faster. If he were twenty pounds lighter. If his knees hadn't felt like they were about to crumble underneath his aging body. If he had just beaten Tim in the race, maybe none of this would have happened.

Instead, Tony is pretty sure that he and Sparr would be at the station booking those dirt bags for attempted abduction while Tim went home with Goliath and the kids. Then Tony and Sparr would've finally closed their cases before they headed to the bar to celebrate. And who knows, maybe Tim might have even joined them for that drink.

But now…

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose so hard that he is pretty sure he might just shove his eyebrows straight into his brain. Maybe if he's lucky it'll knock some synapses together and connect the dots that he can't on his own.

What do two dead guys in a subway tunnel, a bunch of jump drives with cooking recipes, a cache of weapons under an RV, Tim's abduction and Team Gibbs have to do with each other? From Tony's perspective, the whole situation is more like a bad punchline than an actual case.

The world grows darker and hotter with every passing second, the air more suffocating. The sun dips below the tree line, tucked into the horizon by a cloudless, black sky. The street lamps flicker bathe the park and the unis in a sickly, sulfuric yellow glow. Mosquitoes abandon their hiding places to make Tony their evening meal.

Sparr finally stalks over to join him. Her face is grim, her jaw rigid underneath a sheen of sweat. She wipes her dirty hands on the front of her jeans, continues straight past him towards the squad cars.

Tony trips over his own feet as he falls in-step with her.

Despite already knowing the answer by the look in her eyes, he still asks: "Did we find anything?"

Shaking her head, she keeps careful watch on the unis. "Cigarette butts, old beer cans, candy bar wrappers. It's just litter. Nothing that I think will help us find Tim."

"Shit," he whispers.

She studies him out of the corner of her eye. "Walk me through what happened again."

He pushes a breath through his teeth. "Come on, Sparr. We've already been through – "

"Let's try it again anyway," she whispers. "You and I both know how going through things with a witness multiple times can knock loose something they might've otherwise forgotten."

His nose wrinkles in disgust and it makes her smile.

"It's no fun being on the other side, is it?" she replies.

"I just feel like none of it is helping. It's been hours since Tim was taken and what do we have to show for it?" He sighs, looks away. "Absolutely nothing."

"What we have is accounts from three separate witnesses, descriptions of the perps, a search on Tim's cell, and a BOLO on the SUV. Plus, the brass made this top priority until Tim turns up." She squeezes his forearm, hard enough to pull him out of his pity party. "I know how hard it is to watch and wait, but I need you to help me."

Tony stares out at the soccer field. The flashlights of the unis' bounce around in the dark like fat, lazy fireflies as they canvass every inch of grass for the umpteenth time.

Slowly, in a voice he barely recognizes, he recounts the story about how he and Tim were playing catch with the kids before the SUV showed up. Then he tells her everything that happened play-by-play in that excruciating detail that detectives always wish for, but never get. But there isn't anything new in this rendition…just like there wasn't in the last three hundred rehashings.

Sparr shifts her weight. "That was good, DiNozzo."

"Yeah, sure." He rolls his eyes. "Whatever." 

When he feels his skin crawl, Tony meets Sparr's contemplative stare. Her eyes burn in the darkness.

"What?" he asks.

"Is there something else you aren't telling me? Because if you and Tim were working an angle on that behind my back – " Crossing her arms, she stands taller " – now would be the time to come clean."

"I…we didn't do anything behind your back. I've told you every…" The color drains from his cheeks as he snaps his fingers. "The jump drive. Tim downloaded the information off a jump drive when Agent Gibbs stopped by. He left it running in his office. It should be done by now!"

Sparr starts to reply, but Tony bolts across the soccer fields towards the van in the far parking lot. He doesn't have to look over his shoulder to know that she is right there, ready to follow him to wherever the hell they might just end up. The uniforms blankly watch them.

Sparr's breathless voice carries on the wind. "You're in charge, Davies! Call me as soon as the scene is cleared!"

"Yes, ma'am," comes the reply.

"And for fuck's sake, don't call me ma'am!"

By the time she lets her retort fly, they're already at the van and the unis are too far away to hear. Tony slides into the driver's seat while Sparr collapses into the passenger side. She crosses her arms as though she's afraid that might just catch something if her fingers graze more than the seatbelt.

Tony breaks every traffic law on the way to the police station.

Minutes later, they're trying to break into Tim's office. Of course, the door is locked. When Sparr says that she'll find a janitor for the key, Tony stops her. He turns up a pair of paperclips on the dirty carpet. It doesn't take much effort to pick the lock with them.

Sparr stares at him, gobsmacked. "Where'd you learn to do that?" 

He half-shrugs. "You-tube."

Inside, Tim's office is as still and silent as the morgue. The computer monitors on the wall behind the desk are dark. A lone tower on the floor laments to itself why it's always left to do all the work. The air is cold enough to leave a layer of ice on every surface. It reminds Tony of a lair where a super villain would spend his days pondering world domination. And for a moment, Tony can almost picture Tim sitting in his chair, fingers steepled as he tries to figure out a way to take over the station.

Goosebumps rise to Tony's exposed arms as he moves straight to Tim's desk.

Sparr heads into the darkness to search for a light switch.

When Tony bumps the mouse, the computer monitor bathes the room in a hazy, blue glow. Ever the paranoid computer nerd, Tim has his desktop password protected too.

Tony tries the first thing to pop into his head: _Matthew._ But it doesn't work. Neither does _Delilah._ Nor _BearySmiles1989._ On a whim, he even tries: _AppleSucks_ and _PCs4Lyf_ with no success.

Making a face, Tony fights the urge to chuck the keyboard against the wall.

Suddenly, the fluorescent lights flicker overhead before bathing the room in their harsh brightness. Sparr joins him, leaning over Tony's shoulder to stare at the screen.

"What did Tim find?" she asks.

Tony shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't even gotten into the computer yet."

"Did he really password protect it?" When Tony nods, she lets out a labored sigh. "You've got to be shitting me. We're in a freaking police station for Christ's sake. Does he think someone is going to swipe stuff that we're supposed to have access to?"

"Probably."

"Fuck," she breathes. "Should we go get one of the other nerds to get into it?"

Biting his lip, Tony wavers. If they wait for—well, whatever the hell that thing Abby and Tim used to use to crack passwords—to do the work for them, they will be here all night.

"Why don't we give it a try first?" Tony smiles at her. "Two kick ass detectives should be able to crack one IT guy's computer, right?"

Sparr's eyebrows furrow like she's just humoring him. With another sigh, she tries to open one of the desk drawer, then another and another. All of them are locked. Crouching down, she mutters to herself about _that crazy, paranoid geek_ while she searches for a key.

Tony presses his hand against his lips, searches the desktop for any clues. There are a bunch of Post-Its detailing Tim's to-do list for the next day, a couple of odd casefiles, and pictures of the McGee family over the course of Matty's life from a fat, grinning baby to a gangly, awkward tween.

But it's a small, loose picture tucked into the corner of a larger one that catches Tony's attention. It's an image of an older man in Navy dress whites with Tim's eyes and smile holding a blue swaddled baby like it's a national treasure.

_That must be a picture of Tim's dad and Matty. I wonder if they get along better here._

And that triggers a memory to resurface from Tony's NCIS days when he poured over Tim's personnel file before he joined the team. The middle name that Tim dropped right before he went to FLETC. Something he might regret doing if he and his dad reconnected here. 

"Farragut," Tony whispers.

Sparr freezes. "What?"

"Tim's middle name. It's some dead Admiral. But maybe - " Tony crosses his fingers " - just maybe."

Even though it's nothing more than a Hail Mary pass from the 70 yard line, Tony types _Farragut_ into the dialogue box. Instantly, the screen pops up with a background of a steampunk clock face with huge gears and more programs than Tony cares to count.

"I'm in." Tony laughs like a mad scientist. "I finally hacked the great McGee's computer."

After Sparr gives him a high-five, he clicks on the most recent tab that Tim was working on. An Excel spreadsheet takes over the screen with names, phone numbers, and seemingly random numbers.

Sparr leans forward. "What the hell is that?"

"Whatever they are," Tony says. "There's got to be at least a hundred of them."

"Do you have any clue?"

Tony makes a face. "Tim was going to try…" He sighs. "Tim was going to try doing something with it later. But I have no clue idea."

After a quick nod, Sparr shoos him away from the mouse. She clicks frantically. Across the room, the printer whirrs to life.

When she turns to him, he knows exactly what she's about to say.

He holds his hands up. "I'm not leaving. I have to – "

She touches his forearm and he instantly stills. "We don't have any reliable leads right now. I'm going to take this to the nerds down the hall and see if they can't make some sense of it. You're no good to me tired and wound up. Go get some sleep. I'll keep you in the loop, I swear."

Tony just stares at the computer screen. Even though he knows that she's right, he still believes he needs to keep working until they find Tim or he drops from exhaustion.

"As soon as I get something, you're the first person I call. Always." She squeezes his arm. "And remember, if the chief asks, you were never here."

After he gives her a half-hearted nod, she climbs to her feet. She goes to the printer to retrieve her copy of the data before she returns to his side and slips something into his hands. There's a squeeze of his shoulder and then, she's gone.

When he looks at the pages in his hands, he realizes she printed him a copy too.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**10:58pm – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Even though he hates to admit it, Sparr is right. Tony is worthless to Tim—and the force—dead tired and barely functioning on the fumes of yesterday's adrenaline. While he wants to rip apart the city to find his friend, he has no real lead other than a list of few hundred names. There is no way that he'd be able to get through more than two or three before he dropped dead from exhaustion.

With a heavy heart, Tony pulls the van into his driveway. The house is dark, uninviting unlike the McGee's next door whose lights burn brightly in the night. In the front window, he has a view of Delilah staring hopelessly at their living room while Zoe sits on the arm of the couch, comforting her.

Any plan he had to stop by like Zoe suggested evaporates into thin air.

He kills the engine and grabs his gun out of the locked glove compartment. Then he slips out into the sweltering night. The darkness envelopes him with its loving embrace and comforts him as he heads across the yard. When he slips inside the house, he doesn't bother with the lights. He doesn't need Zoe or anyone else to know that he's home.

He just needs some space, some time to think. To be alone.

When he closes the door behind him, he leans against the cool wood. He takes a slow breath as though it could help. The scents of baby powder, spaghetti sauce, and cap gun powder welcome him home.

A low growl echoes from the living room.

"Knock it off, Goliath," he says. "It's just me."

Then there's the jingle of dog tags as Goliath settles back down on the couch or floor or wherever the fuck he is lurking. Not that Tony cares anyway.

A familiar craving burns through him with more intensity than the blazing summer sun. After every hard case and trying day and difficult suspect, Tony always comes home to the same thing.

Alcohol.

He rips the house apart looking for his alter-ego's stash. Back in his world, it used to be housed in an elegant bar that he found at antique store in Alexandria. He always the best of the best on hand: single malt Scotch, spiced rum, crystal clear vodka, bottles of perfectly aged red wine, and Bourbon that made Gibbs' look like paint thinner. With a back-up bottle of gin in his piano bench for "unforeseen emergencies" and "Acts of G-d." 

Here, there's nothing but toys and dolls and baby stuff in every drawer, on every surface, every _-freakin'-_ where.

Underneath the sink, he finally discovers a liquor bottle behind Zoe's cleaning products. The label is peeled and gummy underneath his fingers. He sweeps away the layer of dust to figure out that it's an ancient bottle of bottom shelf gin. He shrugs to himself.

_I guess I keep the same thing on hand for emergencies. Beggars can't be choosers._

When he unscrews the lid, the smell of cheap booze makes his eyes water. He holds the bottle to his lips, ready to take a sip, before he stops dead. Regret takes the alcohol's place in his throat.

_What the hell am I doing? I'm no good to Tim drunk. Or hell, even hungover._

He recaps the bottle, then stares at it in the darkness.

_It doesn't seem like I drink here. Why don't I? When did I stop needing it?_

He throws the entire bottle into the trash before he has a chance to think better of it.

Then he heads down the hall to the bedroom. Goliath follows him, his nails clicking on the hardwood. Tony tucks his gun in the gun case, then he retrieves the flashlight from the nightstand. He settles onto the bed to go through the list of names.

Before he even makes it through the first page, he drifts into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Morning comes quicker than Tony expects. He wakes up face down in the middle of his papers, still wearing yesterday's clothes and sneakers. He checks his phone first, but there's nothing from Sparr.

When he notices it's almost seven, he jumps to his feet.

After a quick change of clothes, he grabs his gun out of the case and cell phone off the night stand. He barrels through the house, hellbent on getting to the station. He almost makes it to the front door before he realizes he isn't alone.

The whole house smells like bacon and scrambled eggs. It sets his stomach growling.

He heads into the kitchen to find Zoe at the stove.

She turns to face him. "Hey Spider."

"Hey," he says tersely.

"How is it going?" she asks quietly. "Any word on Tim yet?"

He just shakes his head. She crosses her arms, looks away.

"How are the kids?" he asks. "How is Delilah?"

"They're really shaken up." Her frown deepens. "Matty didn't sleep at all last night. And Delilah won't put down her phone just in case someone calls her." When she goes quiet, Tony presses his lips together. "You really should come by the house. Riley and Phoebe would like to see you."

Tony smiles sadly. "Right now, I think it's better for everyone if I stay away until we close the case."

With a tight nod, she returns to her project. Scrambled eggs and bacon on a toasted bagel. She wraps it in waxed paper before passing it to him along with a travel mug full of coffee. Tony feels a little guilty like he doesn't deserve this, like he doesn't deserve any of this.

She turns back with her arms open, beckoning him. And he draws her close, loses himself for just a moment in her. She hugs him back as though she'll never let him go, as though he could've been the one last yesterday, as though this could be their last embrace.

"What will you and Sparr do now?" she whispers.

"I don't know," he admits.

She looks up with her beautiful, concerned eyes. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"I got pulled off the case because I'm a witness. The brass is concerned that it would compromise the investigation." He leaves out the part how the dirt bags actually came after _their_ family and Tim was just the collateral damage. "Sparr is feeding me what she can, but you know how it is. I need to work my own lead."

Zoe's face goes panicked. "Are you sure you should be doing this alone? Isn't there anyone who can help?"

It takes a moment for Tony to register what she said. After a split second, he blurts out: "Jesus, Keates, you're brilliant!"

"I am?"

He kisses her smack on the lips, but she is too dumbfounded to reciprocate. She just watches him fumble to put his breakfast on the kitchen table and pull out his cell phone. He dials a number that's been ingrained in his brain for the past thirteen years.

A gruff answer comes on the first ring. _"Yeah, Gibbs."_

"Hey, boss. Errr…Gibbs. It's Tony." He cringes. "Agent Gibbs, this is Detective DiNozzo. I need your help concerning our mutual case."

_"Send your request to – "_

"Tim McGee was abducted last night." Tony lets the words soak in before he continues: "I'm pretty sure it's related to our case."

There's a long pause, then: _"Meet me at the diner by the Naval Yard in ten."_

Without giving Tony has a chance to reply, Gibbs ends the call. So Tony picks up his breakfast and coffee while Zoe just stares after him. He rushes over to plant another hasty kiss on her lips.

"You're brilliant and beautiful and…" he sputters "and…and I love you."

"Love you too, Spider," she says, still not understanding what's going on. "Now, go bring Tim home."


	26. Chapter 26

**Sunday, August 9, 2015 – 7:10am – Kim's Place – Washington, DC – Naval Yard –**

The diner responsible for fueling Jethro Gibbs' caffeine habit looks exactly how Tony always pictured it. Pristine white, linoleum tabletops with cherry red vinyl booth seats and chrome everything. Huge windows treat Tony to an unadulterated view of the world outside.

When he steps inside, the bell on the door behind him jingles.

The woman behind the counter glances up at him, flashing him a grin of fake white plastic. Maybe in a past life, she might have been pretty—or dare he say, even beautiful—but the years robbed her of every trace of attractiveness. Now, she tries to keep up the charade by stuffing her fleshy body into a too-tight waitress uniform and styling her hair into something that hasn't been fashionable in half a century.

"What can I do ya for, Sugar?" Cigarette tar and ash drips from her voice.

Tony smiles. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone."

She shoots a sideways glance around the nearly empty diner. Two loners sit at the counter, mindlessly working through plates of pancakes. Halfway towards an antique jukebox lit up like a sunrise, a grey-haired man sits unaccompanied at a table.

_Gibbs._

Tony can't breathe. Using his head, he gestures towards his former boss.

"Good luck, Sugar. That one's in a fine mood this morning. Care for anything to eat while you're here?" The waitress laughs, shakes her head. "Or should I assume you won't be here long?"

Tony shrugs. "Coffee, eggs, toast."

"That I can do." She turns towards the partition between the kitchen. "You got the kid's order, Mack?"

Based on the colorful retort, Tony is pretty sure that Mack got the order and whatever the hell else shit she lobs his way day in and day out.

After a nod of the waitress' head—a blessing of sorts—Tony heads towards Gibbs' table.

For some reason, the long walk feels strangely like a recurring dream Tony used to have. It was the one where he and Gibbs met for coffee after a long day at work. The one where Gibbs finally broke down his carefully constructed walls to tell Tony how much he appreciated his time on the team, his time as right-hand man, his time put in, his job well done. The dream would crop up in Tony's darkest hours, fuel his spirit when things become too heavy to bear. When he had it, he didn't need Gibbs to tell him what he already knew. He hasn't had that dream since Gibbs caught that bullet in Iraq.

Tony pauses right behind his former boss. He tries to pinpoint when everything between them went south, when everything went so fucking wrong.

Was it because Tony didn't hustle enough for Gibbs' liking? Or did all of those movie references finally made Gibbs crack? Or was it because Tony kept pushing to keep his morals intact while Gibbs only cared about the endgame and not how the team got there? Was any of it even Tony's fault?

"You gonna sit down?" Gibbs growls.

_I always forget Boss has eyes in the back of his head._

Tony snaps out of his stupor to take the seat across from Gibbs, who continues to stare out the window without really looking at anything. His eyes are haunted and haggard like he hasn't seen a decent nights' sleep in years, like the cases he works actually affect him. A plate of half-finished eggs and bacon along with an empty coffee cup and carafe spans the gap between them.

Before Tony can speak, the waitress comes over to deposit his food. She gives him a wink and mouths, _good luck._ And for the first time in his life, Tony thinks he might just need it.

Once he and Gibbs are alone again, Tony sips his coffee. It tastes like burning tires and asphalt. Gagging, he reaches for the sugar container and pours half of it into his drink. He takes another sip and deems it finally ingestible while he waits for Gibbs to break the silence.

Eventually, Tony sighs. "I need your help, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs doesn't move. "You said that on the phone."

So Tony cuts right to the chase. "Tim McGee was abducted last night. And I think it has something to do with the Jackson Mulroney case."

The only crack in Gibbs' façade is a deep, anxious breath. "What makes you say that?"

Without a second thought, Tony rattles off the evidence that he and Sparr tried so hard to keep secret. If Gibbs even listens, he doesn't show it. He just expressionlessly studies the homeless man sleeping on a pile of trash bags outside.

"…and Tim got something off that jump drive that you brought him."

Gibbs' eyes flick over. "I didn't bring him anything."

"Well, that's not what Tim thought when he copied your jump drive."

"I never should've expected anything less from McGee." Gibbs' smile is fleeting, amused and proud. "Now, you're here to tell me he cracked it before we did."

Tony shakes his head. "No, I want to share with you what we found because I thought you could help. If there's anyone who will do whatever it takes to bring someone home, it's you." When Gibbs' brow furrows, Tony clarifies: "Former Marine, right? Never leave a man behind."

Even in his chair, Gibbs' already rigid stance straightens. "Whaddya got?"

Reaching into his pocket, Tony pulls out the stapled list of names. They're crumpled and dotted with bits of drool from Tony sleeping on them. As soon as it lands on the table, Gibbs is half out of his seat. He grabs the papers, but Tony snatches them back.

"I don't think you understand, Agent Gibbs. I'm not transferring the investigation."

"Then why are you here, Detective?"

"Because like I said, I want your help."

Gibbs' eyes darken, but Tony stands his ground. The deadlock stretches on for what feels like forever until Gibbs releases the papers. Tony fumbles back into his seat, watching helplessly as Gibbs heads out of the diner. Panic rises with the toxic coffee to touch back the back of Tony's throat as he struggles to figure out how Gibbs would let his arrogance get in the way of helping a former grunt.

Tony makes a face as he tucks the paper back into pocket.

Since he has time today, he'll run down as many names as he can. Because he—can't—won't sit idle on the sidelines while Tim is out there somewhere.

When Gibbs pulls open the door, the bell jingles happily. Tony glares at his former boss' back, ready for this to be the last time he ever sits in the shadow of the man he admired for so long.

Gibbs glances back. "Are you coming or what?"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**7:42am – Somewhere Near the Naval Yard –**

No matter how hard Tony tries to keep up, Gibbs always manages to stay a full step ahead. If Tony didn't know better, he might think Gibbs was going out of his way to avoid walking with him. But then again, Tony doesn't really know anything about the man Gibbs became without him.

Pulling at his collar, Tony decides not to beg for Gibbs to slow down.

The early morning sun already beats down on them. It reawakens the latent heat still locked in the concrete, kicks up the burn in the surrounding asphalt. The promise of another scorcher hangs as heavy as the humidity in the air. Tony bets by mid-afternoon he'll be able to fry an egg on the sidewalk.

By the time they head through the double doors at NCIS, Tony has already sweated through his shirt. Nonplussed, Gibbs sips his coffee as he ducks through security.

When Tony starts to follow, the blank-faced guards come alive like their morning caffeine finally kicked in. Of course, out of everyone it could be, the two on duty are Walter Walker and Terrence, second rate guardian dumbass. Tony curses under his breath.

After he rises on shaky knees, Walter puts a cautious hand on his gun. He funnels his eighty-plus years into a nasty glare, but he just looks like a little old man about to tell some kids to stay off his lawn.

"You again?" he bellows. "Didn't we tell you not to come back? Whaddawe need to do? Call the police?"

Tony produces his badge. "I _am_ the police. And I'm working with – " he points at Gibbs "—him on a case."

Walter's eyebrows rise. "That true, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs sips his coffee, lets Tony twist for a moment until he says: "Yeah."

"Oh, I apologize for interfering, Agent Gibbs," Walter says, shoulders slumping. "We'll fill out the paperwork for…" He glances at Tony expectantly.

"Ag…Detective DiNozzo."

Before Walter has a chance to grab the paperwork, Terrence beats him to the punch. The guardian dumbass scrambles out from behind the desk to Tony's side. He pushes a worn clipboard into Tony's hands. For all the times Tony watched someone else fill it out, he knows all of the questions by heart. He absently scrawls his information—or what he thinks his information should be.

Terrence leans in close.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses through clenched teeth.

"Working a case," Tony snaps.

"With Agent Gibbs?"

Tony narrows his eyes. "I'm living my life like I'm supposed to."

"It looks a lot like you're trying to sneak back into your old one." Terrence huffs like Tony's an idiot. "Is this really the only path that you think you can lead? Very Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo. Second banana forever to a man like Gibbs?"

Tony murderously stabs his pen as he dots an _i._

"It's been almost a week," Terrence continues, "and you've learned _nothing._ I expected more from you."

Tony grits his teeth. "My friend, Tim…you know about Tim McGee, right?" When Terrence doesn't reply, Tony goes on: "He's missing because of some case that I'm working. Because of me trying to do whatever it the fuck it is that I think you need me to do. So if you know something that can help, tell me or back the fuck off."

"Watch your tone, Agent DiNozzo. It would be a shame for you to be asked to leave again." Then Terrence's features soften. "Please know I am sorry to hear about what's happened. Please – "

"Apologies are a sign of weakness," Tony growls on reflex.

Terrence plasters a tight, annoyed smile on his face. "Please know that whatever is taking place in your glimpse is necessary for your growth. For you to learn something about yourself."

Tony nearly drops the clipboard. "So that's it? My best friend gets abducted and it's supposed to get me in touch with my feelings."

"Not quite."

"Then tell me what the hell is going on." Even though Tony wants to wring Terrence's neck, he knows several pairs of eyes keep careful watch on him. And he can't help Tim from the NCIS holding cell.

"You know that I can't do that, Agent DiNozzo. I know as much as you do. I'm merely here to facilitate your return when the time comes." After he takes Tony's half-done questionnaire and hands him a laminated visitor's badge, Terrence adds his two cents: "Seek your answers elsewhere."

"What does that even mean?"

Without another word, Terrence slinks back to the guard's station.

Tony is just about to follow him when Gibbs growls: "Let's go."

"On your six," Tony blurts out.

Tony stares at Terrence as though he might just get some answers until the elevator doors close. But the guardian dumbass never bothers to look up from his post.

As the elevator takes its familiar trek to the fourth floor, Tony wonders whether he should take Terrence's words as advice or a warning. While he thought he was supposed to throw himself into his life—learn how to be a good detective and an even better father—he now wonders whether he is supposed to do something completely different.

But it doesn't matter right now. The only thing on his mind is bringing Tim back home, alive and safe. Tony will have days—weeks? months? years?—to contemplate his existence afterwards.

When the elevator doors open, Gibbs is off like a shot with Tony right on his heels. They stride into the bullpen like nothing ever changed, but Tony stops dead inches from his occupied desk. Everything looks appears to be the same from the carpet to the computer monitors to the migraine-inducing orange walls, but everything is so bizarre. The energy is so different. Instead of feeling energized and excited, Tony feels heavy and weighted down and stressed.

_And I don't even work here._

The seating arrangement is what he expected. Gibbs at his commander-style desk with a view of the action, Kate Todd working out of Tony's desk while Paula Cassidy sits at Tim's. In the far corner where Ziva used to be, Zeke Ross patiently reads a case file. Not one recognizable scrap of Tony's old life is here.

He hugs his arms to his chest to ward off the chill that traipses down his spine. He had no idea how it could feel to walk into his old life, only to find out that every trace of him was erased. Like he never even existed. And maybe, he never really did.

"Got a new case," Gibbs barks.

And suddenly, all eyes are on Tony. Paula and Zeke share a questioning glance as though they don't know what to do with the intruder.

Kate's expression sours. "What about Petty Officer Mulroney?"

"Tim McGee was abducted last night," Gibbs replies. "That takes priority."

As Kate blinks slowly, her face relaxes. "Really, McGee? What happened?"

With the wave of his hand, Gibbs gives Tony the floor. So the former agent prattles on about the case, the time in the park with their kids, and the men with ski masks. He holds out the pages from their jump drive like it's the only thing he has of value to offer.

Paula rises to take the papers. "So McGee managed to hack a jump drive that Abby couldn't?"

Tony nods. "It seems that way."

"I always heard McGee was a computer whiz, but damn." She flicks through the pages. "I have no idea what any of this could even mean."

"Then figure it out," Gibbs barks.

Paula, Kate, and Zeke stare at Gibbs, clearly awaiting orders.

He lets out a low growl. "Todd, cross reference the names with the Mulroney case. Cassidy, find what those numbers mean. And Ross, look into the addresses. See if anyone has used any of those properties lately. I'll be in Abby's lab." When none of them move, he yells: _"Find McGee, now!"_

When he stalks out of the bullpen, Tony speaks up. "What should I do?"

Gibbs crooks a thumb to the empty desk—the one usually reserved for the TAD—behind the cubicle wall. "Have a seat, detective."

Without giving Tony a chance to reply, he stalks towards the elevator. Dumbfounded, Tony stands in the middle of the bullpen and watches the team work. They work side-by-side, three people searching for answers without even looking at each other. None of them speak.

Tim's safety is in the best hands, he tells himself. Gibbs and his team are the best of the best because, well, Tony had so many years to watch them work firsthand. And if there was anyone that Tony ever trusted with his own life, it would always have been the team. His team.

If they don't find Tim, no one ever will.

But as he takes in the tired and drained faces of Kate, Paula, and Zeke, despair bubbles up in Tony. These people aren't his team. They're three strangers working a case to prevent Gibbs' wrath from raining down on them like hellfire.

The silence threatens to deafen him.

_How do they get anything done if they don't interact?_

Tony broaches the silence. "Does anybody need any help?"

But they pretend not to hear him. He tries again and again, to no avail.

They are still his team, just in a different form. Gibbs trusts them and by extension, Tony will too.

Pissed and frustrated, Tony stalks to the TAD desk. He flumps into the uncomfortable seat, stares at the blank orange walls. Deciding he might as well try to do his own work, he fumbles with the computer. Thankfully, the last agent who used it was too distracted to bother signing out.

While he searches for inspiration—should he access Abby's files? or pull up the Mulroney autopsy report that he already read? or look into the team's reports on the Mulroney case? —he searches his former teammates' personnel files. They contain the same information that he already knew from snooping back home. Except Gibbs has less civilian medals and more reprimands. Kate is still alive, well-decorated and well-respected within the agency. Tim only spent a year and half as a field agent. And Paula hasn't done much of note other than joining Gibbs' team as junior agent as soon as Tim jumped ship.

Pressing his lips together, Tony stares at the home screen for a long moment. Against his better judgement, he types his own name into the search bar. What pops up next doesn't surprise him, but it still feels like a knife to the gut.

_No results found._


	27. Chapter 27

**10:19am – Bullpen – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC – Naval Yard –**

If curiosity is a killer like the old adage suggests, Team Gibbs should be scrubbing Tony DiNozzo's blood out of the carpet right now. Even though the task of finding Tim weighs heavy on him, Tony pokes around the NCIS servers because he enthralled by the possibilities of a world where he doesn't exist, where the agency plugged along without him. He searches some of his most important busts: La Grenouille and Jeanne Benoit, Jeffery White, and Lt. Jonas Cobb.

The outcomes are always the same: a report signed by Stanley Burley.

_Gibbs' right hand man before me. Or as I always liked to say The Tony before there was a Tony. I guess he didn't jump ship here quite as quick as he did back home._

Tony types _Ziva David_ , just to see what became of his former teammate.

And instantly, he regrets it.

The photo that appears is a much younger Ziva with half-lidded eyes and close-cropped hair. Her olive green military fatigues almost blend into the slate grey background. Gone is the lightness in her gaze, the expression in her features, the smile written in the lines of her face. She appears to be every inch the hardened killer she worked so hard to leave back home in Israel.

But the words next to the image are even more haunting than her face. _Killed in Action, August 2005._

The details of her death are a mere footnote amongst the agency reports about Ari Haswari's reign of terror. Kate's reports detail how a sniper's shot went wide while Tim's recounts a chilling day held hostage and the subsequent bullet wound. It's watching a movie where you know the ending and then reading the book, only find out they're completely different.

He brings Ziva's picture up again. Pressing his lips together, he runs his fingers across the screen, across her lifeless face.

"So you were the one who died in Kate's place," he murmurs.

And Tony finally understands that a sort of balance exists here.

One teammate lives while another dies. Someone jumps ship and there is another warm body to take their place on the team. He stayed a cop and the repercussions rippled outward like he dropped a stone into still water, reaching out from the epicenter to every facet of the world. The butterfly effect where the single beat of a wing unleashed the devastating typhoon clear on the other side of the world.

_One decision changed everything…_

Tony pops up over the partition to warily eye Paula Cassidy.

Here, she is still alive and well and working as Jethro Gibbs' junior agent. If she lived here, does this mean that another junior agent will die in her place? Does that mean her place in death will be taken by Tim?

No, he tells himself, that can't be right.

Paula should've died years ago in that explosion. If a life for a life rights the world, it only makes sense that someone else should've perished shortly after.

_Only if that's the way it works…_

He doesn't know if the debt needs to be paid right away, but he tells himself that just to ease he nerves. Hopefully, the universe won't take its pound of flesh years later when no one seems to be expecting it.

Swallowing hard, he watches what should be his team—no, now they're just mash of random agents all sitting together in the bullpen—work. Kate Todd stares intently at her computer screen while Paula takes notes and draws diagrams on loose printer paper. At what should have been Ziva's desk, Zeke Ross presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. They don't speak a single word to each other.

Kate glances over. "Do you have something, Detective?"

_Only the knowledge that my entire career doesn't exist. That I'm talking to a corpse. That I'm married with a bunch of kids. That I'm pretty sure I've gone fucking insane._

_And that I don't mind it one bit._

_Except for the fact that my best friend might die if I don't stop screwing around._

Instead, he shakes his head. "And you?"

Her eyes search his as though trying to determine his intentions. She hesitates like she fears Tony might just steal their lead and solve the case on his own. Interagency cooperation be damned because, well, Gibbs' team is the only entity to be playing by the rules. Then she seems to think better of it.

"Just a list of people who don't exist," she says. "I'm thinking they're aliases."

His eyebrows jump. "You don't say."

Even though her gaze threatens to decapitate him, she keeps going. "I narrowed it down to the most promising ones."

There are a couple of clicks as she transfers the list to the plasma before highlighting two names.

Tony stares at them. "Aaron Keller and Philip Monroe. What made you pick them?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "If you must know, I ran it through our forensic data from the Jackson Mulroney case like Gibbs told me to. These were the only two who repeated anywhere. Keller was one of Mulroney's fake IDs and Monroe showed up on piece of paper in Mulroney's wallet. That's it."

Pressing his lips together, Tony just stares at the plasma screen. Kate gives another click to bring up a Virginia state driver's license with Mulroney's picture and the name _Aaron Keller._ Then a scanned scrap of paper with _Philip Monroe 38.907144, -77.04345_ scrawled across it.

When Paula glances up, her mouth gapes. Her attention whips back and forth between the screen and the papers on her desk. A split-second later, she circles something on the loose printer paper.

"That's it," she murmurs.

Kate turns back. "What's it?"

"These numbers," Paula rambles, "I know what they are. At first, I thought they were random. Seriously, there are pages and pages of numbers that don't seem to mean anything. But they – "

"Cassidy, get to the point," Kate warns.

"I think they're coordinates," Paula says, gesturing to the plasma. "It looks like the maker of the jump drive buried a bunch of locations in the numbers."

"Locations for what?"

"Drop-off points? Targets? I'm not really sure yet." Paula taps her pencil against the desk. "We think these guys are building a bomb, right?"

Still engrossed in the plasma screen, Tony nods. "Metro has every reason to believe these dirt bags are building a bomb. Then when we got too close, they grabbed McGee."

At the mention of Tim's name, Kate and Paula share a sad look. Kate sets her jaw as she turns back to the plasma screen.

"Take your work to Abby, Cassidy," Kate says. "Let her figure out what the coordinates are. She's got the resources to do it faster. I'll need you working on something else ASAP."

Paula starts, "But – "

"Do it now and then report back up here."

"Yes, ma'am," Paula snarls before collecting her paper and slinking out of the bullpen.

Based on quickly Paula moves, Tony assumes that the transfer of her work takes place more often than she prefers. Paula continues to read her papers all the way to the elevator.

Kate turns on her heel. "Ross? What do you have?"

"All of my addresses are dead ends," Zeke admits. "They're for vacant lots. They should be smack dab in the middle of the Anacostia. And some flat out don't even exist."

"And?"

"I'm not sure what the point of them are."

Kate rolls her eyes. "So that's it?"

Zeke smiles as though he is constantly being underestimated. "I already cross referenced your leads, Todd. I narrowed the people with those names to the greater Metro area and excluded anyone who shouldn't be planning on building a bomb. Kids, old people, you know the drill. From there, I narrowed it down even further. I managed to get a hit for a storage unit in Silver Spring made with Jackson Mulroney's fake ID."

"That's good work, Ross," Kate replies absently, putting her cell phone to her ear. A moment later, she says: "Gibbs, I think we've got something."

Crossing his arms, Tony studies the two names on the screen. None of these leads make any sense to him. Based on what he and Sparr turned up at their John Doe—Michael Perkins'—trailer, he doubts that Jackson Mulroney isn't the only one at the center of the tangled web. Guns, anti-government whack job paraphernalia, and whatever the hell else Sparr turned up makes him think that Perkins might be a middle man too. Everything seemed to go sideways as soon as he walked out of that trailer.

"Can you bring up that list of names, Agent Todd?" Tony asks suddenly.

Already at her desk collecting her gear, she looks up quizzically. "What for?"

"Just humor me," he says. Then adds, "please" with a flourish.

Shrugging as though to say _suit yourself,_ she transfers the Excel spreadsheet to the plasma. The dozens of names are so small that Tony has to stand with his nose centimeters from the screen. Even though the brightness burns his eyes, he tries to find one that could be connected to Michael Perkins.

Halfway down the list, he finds: _Malcolm Crowe._

_That was Bruce Willis' character from the Sixth Sense. Perkins and Mulroney were fans from when we searched Mulroney's house._

He fires off a text to Sparr: _Can you look into Malcolm Crowe? I don't know what it means, but I think it might have something to do with McGee's disappearance._

Standing stock still, he watches Kate organize her gear and Zeke stare at his computer. He holds his breath; certain this has to be it. Because if it isn't—judging by the list of names and Zeke's address—there are far too many leads to run down to find Tim before they run out of time.

Sparr responds a few minutes later: _I'll be damned. Highkin found a hit on an alias that matches Michael Perkins. I'll send you the address. Meet me there?_ She texts him an address in Alexandria.

"I've got something," Tony announces suddenly.

Kate looks up skeptically. "Yeah?"

While he is busy explaining his theory of Mulroney and Perkins' love of all things Bruce Willis, Gibbs swoops into the bullpen. He lets Tony finish before announcing, "Grab your gear."

"Where are we headed?" Kate asks, hoisting her backpack on her shoulder.

"Abby matched one of Cassidy's coordinates to your storage unit, Todd. She thinks that's where the dirt bags are holding McGee," Gibbs relays as he gears up. "Cassidy is meeting us in the garage."

Tony's gaze floats between the text from Sparr to the current incarnation of his beloved team. Shifting his weight, he tries not to consider his options, tries to listen to his gut. Even though his head and his heart are screaming at him to blindly follow Gibbs to the end of the earth and back, something else entirely is telling him that Sparr's lead might just be what they need right now.

Gibbs and Kate are almost out of the bullpen, while Zeke is still struggling to put his clip into his service weapon.

Tony hangs back.

"I think he might be in Alexandria," he blurts out.

Turning back, Gibbs narrows his eyes. "And what makes you say that, _Detective?"_

"Because 'I see dead people,'" Tony quips. When Gibbs' eyelid twitches, Tony levels his shit-eating grin at his former boss. "It's from the _Sixth Sense._ Malcolm Crowe, it's one of the names on the list. That's the name of Bruce Willis' character _._ Really creepy movie, but I totally called that Bruce Willis was already dead." Gibbs lets out an actual growl and Tony moves on. "Not that that's important, but our dead guys were _Die Hard_ Bruce Willis fans."

For a split second, Gibbs appears as though he might just consider Tony's lead. Instead, he nods. "Run it down, Detective. Let us know what you find."

"That's it?"

Gibbs turns away. "We'll keep you in the loop."

But Tony has played this game long enough to know what bullshit smells like. When Kate and Gibbs turn towards the elevator, Tony remains rooted to the floor, dumbfounded. Even though he knew what to expect from Gibbs, he thought there might be a different result here. His cheeks grow hot as anger bubbles up inside him. Apparently to Gibbs, interagency communication only means that information flows straight to him.

Tony still can't believe that Gibbs would ignore a possible lead with Tim's life on the line.

So Tony stands his ground. "What if I'm right? What if McGee is in Alexandria?"

Gibbs glances over his shoulder and for a moment, Tony thinks amusement dance in the older man's eyes. With a shrug that seems to say _fat fucking chance,_ he levels a glare at Zeke.

"Ross, you're with DiNozzo."

All Zeke has to offer is a dead-fish probie's stare. "Boss?"

"Go – " Gibbs grits his teeth " – and when DiNozzo's lead doesn't pan out, meet us at the storage unit."


	28. Chapter 28

**2:18pm – 238 Fort Washington Pike, Alexandria, VA – Rolling Greens Estates –**

When Zeke pulls the Charger up to the bumper of a huge SUV with government plates, Tony figures they must in the right place. They stumble out of the car right into the middle of a three-ring circus.

ATF trucks, FBI vans, and a group of agents in their uniform, black suits destroy the mid-afternoon peace and quiet on the residential street. Quintessential suburbia. Neighbors anxiously peer out from behind their curtains in their cookie-cutter McMansions as they try to determine what brought so many agencies out here that their little corner of suburbia now resembles alphabet soup.

Tony leads the way up the street until they reach the end of a driveway that belongs to an impressive, dark blue colonial. The stately columns lining the front porch try to portray a historical air like a teenager trying to sneak into an adult only movie. The paint is so new that it shows no age from the unrelenting summer sun, the grass still showing its cracks from where the sod never got a chance to grow in. A few sparse trees, barely into their infancy, linger in the front yard like unruly children.

"It looks like I was right," Tony says.

Zeke nods, but seems to be too afraid to verbalize that Gibbs might've been wrong.

As they start up the driveway, G-man with a bad military haircut and mirrored Aviators steps into their path. Tony flashes his badge, but the man doesn't budge. He doesn't move when Zeke flashes his either.

"Sorry, Detective and Agent Ross, neither of you are authorized to be here. And I'm not sure what a bunch Navy cops – " the G-man looks distastefully over his Aviators at Zeke " – think they can do here. The ATF and FBI are handling this investigation."

Tony pockets his badge. "I'm looking for my partner. Detective Sparr?"

The one sign that the G-man has seen her is a slight head twitch before he straightens his back. Resuming his post, the G-man takes to ignoring Zeke and Tony.

Tony steps forward to stand almost nose to nose with the G-man. Well, G-man's nose to Tony's chest.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about," Tony says. "The blonde with a mouth like a sailor. The one who Highkin is smitten with. That's your boss, right?"

At the mention of Highkin, the G-man shifts his weight slightly, but he doesn't say a word.

Zeke puts his hand on Tony's shoulder, gestures back to the car. "Maybe we should just wait out here until they're ready for us, Detective."

Making a face, Tony shrugs him away. He shoots a quick text off to Sparr, _We're here, but Agent Douchebag won't let us in._

While he waits for whatever hell his partner will unleash, Tony mimics the G-man's stance: crossed arms and wide-legs with a far-off, wall-eyed stare. Unsure what to do, Zeke bounces on his heels. His gaze drifts back and forth between Tony and the safety of the Charger as though he doesn't know which one would keep his career in check. He fiddles with his holster, checks his phone. He drives Tony crazy.

Thankfully, Tony doesn't have to shoot him.

Moments later, the front door flies open and a familiar shape storms onto the porch. Andrea Sparr holds a hand up to shield her eyes against the sun as she scans the street. As soon as she notices Tony and Zeke at the edge of the driveway, she squares her shoulders and stalks across the lawn.

Grinning cheekily, Tony elbows Zeke. "Watch this."

"Hey you!" she yells. When the G-man doesn't move, she yells even louder: "Hey you! Yeah, you! Agent Parker! I'm talking to _you_!"

Parker turns back and removes his sunglasses. His eyes widen as though the bowels of hell just opened right in front of him. When Sparr reaches him, she stands toe-to-toe and draws herself to her full height. They stare into each other's eyes. He tries to ignore her too, so she gets in his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she says.

Parker moves his eyes to somewhere in the distance. "My job."

"You mean denying Metro entry to the scene of a _joint_ investigation?" She leans further into his face. "What do you think the Chief of Police will say when he hears about this?" When that doesn't get a reaction, she tries: "How will Highkin react?"

Parker pales. "Please don't say anything, ma'am. I thought…I thought I should – "

"It doesn't matter what you _thought_ ," she interrupts. "This is a joint task force, for Christ's sakes. Metro is just as important as the ATF and whoever the hell else is here." That earns her an appreciative smile from Zeke. "Now get the hell out of our way!"

"Yes, ma'am."

She throws her arms up. "And don't call me, ma'am!"

"Yes…" He swallows hard. "Detective."

Without even looking in her direction, Parker walks towards a collection of cars further up the street. Sparr puts her hands on her hips, glaring at him just in case he is suicidal enough to glance back. But he isn't. Once he slinks into one of the SUVs, Sparr lets out a sigh of relief.

"G-d, what an asshole," she sighs.

Tony crooks a smile. "You got that right."

Zeke just watches them as though he's completely out of his element, as though he doesn't know what to do with Sparr's stunning display of professionalism and how the detectives interact.

Tony's cell phone pings with a text, but he doesn't check. It's probably just Zoe looking for a status update. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that they have more leads than a few hours ago, but there is no way that they can run them all down and nothing concrete.

"It's like they don't get it. We shouldn't be in the middle of a G-d damned pissing match when one of our own is missing." She glares back at the house. "If it were one of them, I bet they'd be moving heaven and hell to turn over the evidence quickly. Right now, they're just putzing around."

That pit in Tony's stomach reforms. "Tim?"

"He was here. I know he was." Her expression darkens. "Not like any of these assholes care though. They're more concerned with the explosives residue and the assault rifles they found in the kitchen than what I found in an upstairs bedroom."

Tony tilts his head. "What was that?"

Frowning, she reaches into the pocket of her jeans to pull out an evidence bag. Inside is a small, black keyfob with the Audi logo on it.

"It was hidden in a bunch of toys."

"Toys?" Tony repeats, feeling sick to his stomach.

"I found that inside a plastic dollhouse." Sparr makes a face. "It looks like there planning on having kids here instead."

The reality of the situation slams into Tony with more force than the car that sent him here. If Tim hadn't gotten in the way of those men, there was no way of telling what might have happened to Riley or Matty. Even though he isn't her father—and he still isn't entirely sure if this world truly exists—he still can't bear the thought of anything bad happening to her.

When Tony's stomach churns, Sparr grabs his shoulder. "Don't go there, DiNozzo. You need to keep your head in the game because Tim needs more than just me. Because it's not like anyone else is helping." She smiles tightly at Zeke. "No offense."

"You're right." Tony sets his jaw. "Tell me about the key."

"I never would've found it if I weren't searching the room pretty closely." She throws a withering stare in Parker's direction. "These bastards are too busy investigating their case to give a shit about ours."

"Is that important?" Zeke jumps in.

Sparr narrows her eyes. "It's the key to Tim McGee's car."

"Ah," Zeke says before he goes back to considering the age old rule of NCIS: _Probies should be seen, but not heard_.

"Was there anything else here, Sparr?" Tony asks, trying to change the subject before Sparr murders Zeke in front of a ton of witnesses.

"Damned if I know." Frowning, Sparr smoothes her hair. "Highkin promised me that we'll have second crack when they're done clearing their scene. But that could take hours."

"We don't have time for that." Tony's eyes widen. "Tell me you aren't waiting around."

"Just who do you think you're talking to, Big D?" Her shit-eating grin is barely there before it's gone, replaced by a hard mask f determination. "I'm doing what I can, but this place is clean. Almost too clean. If it weren't for that key, I never would've suspected that McGee had even been here."

"Damn," he whispers.

She turns to Zeke. "Tell me your agency's got something, Ross."

From the look in his eyes, Tony thinks Zeke might just tell her that he isn't at liberty to share. But when she crosses her arms and straightens her stance, Zeke spills his guts about everything NCIS has. Gibbs and the team think, he says, their dead guys were bomb makers bent on selling their wares to the highest bidder. And Tim was just collateral damage when they got too close with the information they uncovered at the scenes.

"See? Was that so hard?" She clasps her hands behind her head as she offers Zeke a friendly smile. "I guess we're the only ones interested in McGee's abduction. Forensics is piecing together some evidence from the scene, but the tire tracks are too common to run. And we couldn't get a hit on the vehicle."

"Of course," Tony says. "So we've got nothing."

"No, we know where Tim was. Just not where he is." She clasps a hand on his shoulder. "So we know he was alive when he was here."

"And if they kept him alive this long, odds are he still is."

Sparr nods intently. "And that he will be until they get what they want."

When his phone pings again, it sets Tony on edge.

Maybe he'll just wait a little while before he texts Zoe back to let her know exactly how far they still have to go. The memory of Delilah crying onto Zoe's shoulder pops into his mind and it turns Tony's heart all over again. Even though he doesn't know how this world works, he still needs to make it right.

"Are you going to get that or what?" Sparr asks suddenly.

Tony blinks. "Yeah, I guess."

When he pulls out his phone, the texts aren't from Zoe, but a number Tony doesn't recognize.

The first reads: _We want all five jump drives in return for your friend's life, detective._ Then a follow-up: _You have 24 hours._

"It's from them," Tony says quietly.

Sparr is by his side instantly. "Really? What's it say?"

And at the same moment, Zeke pulls out his own cell phone to make a call. When a squad car pulls up with its siren screaming, he heads further down the driveway. "Hey Abby, it's Zeke. Yeah, we're still working the McGee case. Listen…I need you to run a trace for me on…"

Sparr and Tony share a tense look.

"Five drives?" she says.

"I thought we found three?"

"Two at NCIS. One at Metro." Sparr nods as she fiddles with her cell phone. "I've got the nerds running a trace on that number, but I'm not holding my breath. Your buddy's the only one I'd trust with a job like that and well…"

Tony winces. Then he suggests: "Do you think we could get a better trace on a phone call?"

She presses a hand to her face. "We could probably use it to triangulate a location more reliably than pinging a phone that isn't in use. But it's easier to trace on a landline."

"That gives me an idea."

_Give me proof of life,_ he types.

As soon as he hits send, the phone rings with the unknown number. He ends the call.

Sparr looks up, wide-eyed. "What the fuck are you doing, DiNozzo?"

"Calling their bluff." His eyes meet hers. "Trust me."

She nods carefully.

Tony sends another text, _Let him talk to his wife._

The reply, _We'll make contact at your home in 1 hour. We have some things to discuss. Ditch the agent and the blonde._

Sparr gapes. "Someone's got eyes on us."

"No kidding," Tony says, not looking up.

"I guess that's my cue to go put the screws to Highkin," she says.

When she pulls her shirt down slightly to reveal more cleavage, she fluffs her hair to give it more volume. Her face is relaxed and almost smiling, but her hard eyes dart around the crowd as though she searches for whomever is communicating with the kidnappers. Her gaze lands on Zeke.

Tony starts, "You don't think – "

"I only think you need to get home. Now," she says, changing the subject.

With a half-nod, Tony glances back to the row of SUVs. He has no idea how he is supposed to get back to Kingman Park from here without the van and he isn't sure how much he should trust his ride.

"Take Highkin's car," Sparr suggests, passing Tony a keyring with lime green rabbit's foot on it. "By the time I'm done with him, I doubt he'll mind. Call me as soon as you get something. In the meantime, I'll get the nerds to tap your phone."


	29. Chapter 29

**3:45pm – 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

As Tony pulls the giant SUV into the driveway, he misjudges the angle and rolls right over the curb. The car barely acknowledges the change in terrain as it scales the sidewalk and nearly takes out the hedge separating his driveway from the McGee's. On his way into the house, Tony can't bear to look at Tim's Audi parked in the middle of his driveway. Someone must've brought it home from the station.

Inside, the feeling of Tony's is nothing like he's come to know. Gone is the welcoming aroma of Zoe's homemade dinners and the cacophony of Riley's TV shows. It's as quiet and as still as a graveyard in the dead of night. The walls themselves radiate the same anxiety as its occupants.

Zoe stands by the couch, pretending to fold laundry. But the haphazard pile of what she considers folded and the way she jumps to attention tells Tony that it's all for show. The shirt flutters to the floor as her hand jumps to the gun holstered on her hip. He hasn't seen here with a Glock on her hip since he left Philly.

Relief washes over her face at the sight of him. "Oh thank G-d, it's you, Spider."

"Keates," is all he manages before her face falls.

Tony wraps his arms around her and she collapses into him, burying her face into his neck. Even though she is always the one protecting the homestead while he works the case, the stakes aren't usually so high. She sniffles into his shoulder as she lets herself go, if only for a moment.

That's when Tony notices Delilah on the other side of the couch. The television plays a talk show on mute, but she doesn't bother to watch it. Instead, her vacant and red-rimmed eyes are set carefully Tony. Her fingers drum on the balding tires of her wheelchair. She takes a deep breath and holds it as though she might be preparing for her world to never be the same.

Delilah releases the breath. "Is he…"

And that's when Zoe pulls away, leaving Tony suddenly exposed and unbuoyed.

"Still alive. The kidnappers are supposed to make contact in…" he checks his watch "…about fifteen minutes. The guys at the station are getting a remote wiretap as we speak."

Zoe's expression turns confused. "Shouldn't someone be here?"

"It's too risky," Tony replies. "Someone might have eyes on the house. We'll have to do the best we can with the resources at hand."

Zoe scrubs her hands across her face. "Someone could be watching us? Oh G-d..."

Tony instantly feels guilty for even mentioning it. "It's probably nothing, Zoe. Sparr is just being overly paranoid with how important the case is. We can't – " he hazards a small smile " – risk any hiccups."

While Zoe and Delilah doesn't appear convinced, they let it go.

"You know," Delilah says, rolling her wheelchair forward, "I've got a friend at the NSA who owes me a favor." She stops abruptly, seeming to waver. "No offense Tony, but…"

"Don't worry. I get it. You want everyone helping to find Tim." He shoots his wife a sideways glance. "I'd do the same."

Delilah half-nods as she looks away. "Yeah."

"Believe me, we're doing everything we can."

"I know." Her smile is sad. "I just hope that it's enough."

Tony presses his lips together. "Me too."

After a jerky nod, she heads into the kitchen to reach her cell phone. If anyone can set up an emergency wiretap that ends up working, Tony figures it'll be the NSA. After all, he and Sparr were already wading around an alphabet soup of bureaucratic red tape, so why not add another one to the mess?

Once they're alone, Zoe looks up at him. "Catch me up to speed."

He gives her the short version: the highlights of the evidence, the interagency pissing match, and the communication with the kidnappers. He skips the part about the explosives and the possible terrorist attack on DC, because there are just certain things she shouldn't have to worry about. Especially since he just let it slip that someone might have eyes on him, eyes on _his family._

It takes her a moment to soak everything up.

"That isn't good," she whispers.

"You and I have closed harder cases with less, Keates. Remember the Pulaski murder?" Recognition blasts across her face and they share a knowing, impressed smile. It was the case Tony thinks would've brought them together, if he'd just stayed. "We found that toothpick and that was it. Three days on the beat and where's the dirt bag now?"

"Still doing life. I know you'll work your ass off, but…" she looks away.

"You think the feds will get distracted by the bigger bone?" When she nods, he continues: "If they do, I'm sure Sparr won't hesitate to shoot anyone who loses focus."

Zoe chuckles. "Delilah is going to appreciate having someone like Andrea in her court."

"You can count on it." Nodding, Tony grins. "Where are the kids?"

Zoe checks out the window to make sure there isn't anything suspicious out front. "Phoebe's napping in her crib and Riley and Matty are in her room. Could you go check on them?"

"Absolutely."

He kisses her on the cheek and she squeezes his hand. Without another word, he heads to the back of the house while Zoe retakes her post by the couch. On the way, he passes Delilah who is hunched in a corner, talking on her cell phone. Even though she keeps her voice low, it sounds like she's walking someone through something computer related on the other end.

Tony makes his first stop in Phoebe's room. Laying in her enormous, white crib, the baby looks impossibly tiny against the light pink sheet. Her hands rest beside her head like she's cheering in a silent victory. Her lips move in a sucking motion as she coos in her sleep.

_I wonder what she's dreaming about. Thankfully, she doesn't have to worry about anything bad yet. I wish it could be like that for her always._

He traces his finger along her chubby cheek, steadied by her warmth and softness. At that moment, she reaches up to clutch his finger. He extricates it carefully before he backs out of the nursery.

Before heading to Riley's room, he stops by his room to retrieve her cap gun from his gun safe.

When he stops by her door, he holds his breath and knocks. There's the sound of shifting inside and a dull _thud._ Finally, the door opens to reveal Riley's face. Her hair is unkempt and wild, flyways sticking out from every angle in her ponytail. The bags under her eyes stretch down her cheeks and her lower lip is chewed red and raw.

"Oh hi…" she glances towards where Matty sleeps on her bed "…Dad."

Tony keeps up appearances too. "Heya Rookie. Can I come in for a minute?"

When she slides out of the way, he steps inside. From the looks of things, the disaster relief crew swept through to clean up in the wake of Hurricane Riley. Everything is in its proper place on her shelves and dresser. The stuffed animals are arranged by size from smallest to largest in the corner under the window. Tony thinks someone may have even dusted.

Goliath is curled up in front of a stuffed bunny. At the sight of Tony, he barely lifts his head.

"Matty picks up when he's nervous," she says. "Mom always says we invite him over more often. But I think he can be really annoying."

Tony hazards a small smile. "He's been through a lot these past two days."

"I know," she whispers. "It's not every day that your dad disappears."

Riley nods as though she knows exactly what that feels like. When he goes to comfort her, she shies away. He crosses his arms and takes a step back.

"Did you find Mr. McGee yet?" she asks.

Tony glances at Matty, but Riley leans into his line of vision.

"Matty is still asleep. He's been like that all morning." Riley shrugs. "That's why I said he was annoying. He would've yelled me if he were pretending. So catch me up to speed."

Hearing her repeat the same phrase that her mother used on the beat makes his heart swell with pride. Even though she isn't his daughter, everything about her continues to amaze him. He truly wishes that he had helped create her, had the opportunity to watch her grow into a capable young woman.

"You know we can't talk about that, Riley."

"Please," she whispers, her tone teetering on begging. "My dad would work really hard to save Mr. McGee. And I told Matty…I promised Matty that you would too. Because he thinks _you're_ my dad."

Tony crouches down so he can meet her eyes. "I will and I am. I've worked with Tim…Mr. McGee for a long time and he's one of my best friends."

"In the whole wide world?"

He nods emphatically. "Apparently, in every world."

Riley half-nods as she seems to accept something that she'll never understand.

"Then why did you come home?"

He reaches into his back pocket to produce her cap gun. "To give you this."

Her face lights up as her hand wraps around the smooth, orange plastic. She turns to her back to him before squaring her shoulders and mimicking a shooting stance. At the sight, Goliath lethargically lifts his head and lets out a less than enthusiastic _woof._

"Is he okay?" Tony asks.

Riley waves at the dog dismissively. "He isn't feeling good. Phoebe fed him some of her baby food. I think peas would make anyone barf. Do you like peas?"

"I hate them."

She nods as though it makes Tony okay in her book. So she goes back to holding her fake gun towards the window and checking her aim.

"You know that isn't for you to play with, right?" Tony says suddenly. Riley nods. "I need you to watch your mom's six and protect Phoebe."

She nods again, hard enough to make her ponytail bob this time. "Hold down the fort, just like my dad always tells me to. Mom doesn't say anything, but I think she's scared."

"We're all scared." When raw fear sets across Riley's face, Tony realizes his mistake. "But she and I are going to protect you and Phoebe. And – "

"I'll protect Matty," she says, straightening her back. "His mom and dad don't have a gun and look what happened. It's my job to protect him too."

Tony never understood what drew people to their children, what made people talk about every day occurrences like they were vastly important, what made people stare at their kids in rapt wonder…until this moment. He studies the way she grips her plastic gun with a determination that rivals most seasoned police officers, the way her eyes skirt the perimeter for possible threats, the way she keeps herself between Matty and the doorway.

He has no doubts about how capable his eight-year-old might be.

He starts, "Hey, Riley – "

At that moment, Goliath scrambles up from his position under the window. His nails scrabble against the floor as he darts into Riley's open closet. The sound of him retching and vomiting fill the room.

Riley sighs. "Matty will want to get that like he got the rest of it when he wakes up."

"That isn't the first time that Goliath threw up?" Tony asks.

After Riley shakes her head, her expression turns panicked. "Don't tell Mom or else she'll make me get rid of him! I love him already! And…and he's a good guard dog!"

"Goliath isn't going anywhere yet," he says, climbing to his feet.

When Tony checks in the closet, Goliath stumbles on his stubby, unsteady legs. He gives Tony a piteous glance before he waddles back to his spot by the stuffed animals. As he collapses to the ground, he lets out a labored sigh.

"Get me some paper towels," Tony says.

Seconds later, Riley brings them back. Even though Tony tries not to look, he can't help but notice the flecks of orange rubber in the pea green vomit. Tony recognizes them as the remains of Goliath's beloved squeaky toy. Of course, the dog devoured his beloved toy because that would make perfect sense in a dog's mind.

He rolls his eyes.

But when he goes to throw the paper towels away, he notices a piece of black plastic sticking out of the mess in the trash can. He pushes as much of it as he can aside to reveal a black jump drive.

"You've got to be shitting me," he says. "The bastard hid a jump drive in his dog's toy."

Riley appears over his shoulder. "Did Goliath poop too? If he did, it's my mom's fault because she won't let us go outside."

"No, Riley, it's evidence."

She lets out a little gasp before she rushes over to her nightstand. Seconds later, she is by his side with a pair of giant, lime green plastic tweezers and a sandwich bag. He shoots her a questioning glance.

"It's my evidence kit for when I need to prove that Phoebe is bad."

"Okay," he says, accepting the explanation at face value.

Riley leans over. "What is it?"

He plucks the jump drive out of the mess and then, he slips it into the baggie. While this jump drive looks like the other three that have turned up, Tony figures something important must be on this one. He wonders whether it was what Mulroney and Perkins were killed for.

As if waiting for a cue on how to react, Riley intently watches him.

"Where's the computer?" he asks.

Grabbing his hand, Riley leads him into the hallway. "This way!"

At that moment, the phone rings.


	30. Chapter 30

**4:14pm - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

"Riley," Tony whispers. "I need you go back to your room."

She looks back, mouth gaping. "Why? Who's calling?"

"Do you remember what we talked about? About how you want to protect Matty?" When she gives him a solemn nod, he continues: "I need you to make sure he doesn't hear us. Can you do that for me?"

Her eyes are full of questions, but she nods again. As she heads back into her bedroom, she closes the door with a quiet _thud._ He waits for a moment until he's convinced that she won't just trail him back into the hallway. But she seems to understand the gravity of the situation, seems to accept that this is something the adults need to handle without her.

Each ring of the phone cuts through the silence of the house like a razor, sawing through the tenuous safety they've found within the walls. He starts back towards the living room.

"Tony!" Zoe shouts as though he couldn't hear the phone.

He joins her and Delilah, surprised to find the cordless phone sitting in the middle of the coffee table. Both women eye it warily as though it might jump up and attack. No one makes a move to answer it.

Delilah places her cell on the table. "Are you getting this, Bishop?"

A voice that's all too familiar comes through the speaker: _"I see the call incoming, Fielding. I need four minutes to get a lock on the location. Two minutes to get a general area."_

"What's general?"

_"A one mile radius."_

When Delilah flashes Tony a questioning glance, he gives her a thumbs up. Then without any more hesitation, Tony hits the speaker button on the cordless phone. The house goes so silent that he fears the women can hear his racing heart.

"Hello?" he answers.

_"Tony? Is that you?"_ Tim's voice comes through, hoarse and exhausted.

"It's me, buddy. How are you doing?"

_"Fine, good. It's not at a five-star resort, but I'll live,"_ Tim replies darkly.

Tony laughs in spite of himself. "How about we all take a family vacation when you get back? Maybe we should hit Disney World with the kids. That would be fun, don't you think?"

_"I'd like that."_ A long pause. " _Hey, Tony, can you do me a favor?"_

"Anything, Tim."

_"Can you tell Delilah that I lost my key again? I'm always losing my key."_

Pressing his lips together, Tony fights the urge to tell Tim that they already found his Audi key, that they're merely a few steps behind the dirt bags. And with Ellie helping them out, Tim should be home by midnight.

Instead, Tony says: "Why don't you tell her yourself? She's right next to me."

When Tony glances at her, he understands why Delilah hasn't made a sound since he answered the call. Silent tears streak down her pale cheeks as she watches the phone. She digs her fingernails into the tire treads of her wheelchair. No matter how hard she fights to remain stoic, an impending meltdown looms ever present on the horizon. And if she is to lose it then the odds of upsetting Tim are high.

Zoe wraps her arms around Delilah's shoulders.

Tim clears his throat. _"Honey? Are you there? I'd love to hear you voice."_

Delilah nods until her voice catches up. "Right here, sweetie. I'm right here."

_"I miss you and Matty."_ He gets choked up and does she. " _I want to come home."_

She wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "You will soon. Tony's going to bring back to us. I love you, sweetie and so does Matty. We're waiting for you."

_"I love you too. And honey, don't forget. 01101.010010001 – "_

And with that the line does dead.

_"Damn it,"_ says Ellie Bishop's voice from Delilah's cell. _"I wasn't able to get a trace."_

But Delilah doesn't pay her any attention. She's too busy staring blankly ahead as she ruminates over Tim's blast of numbers at the very end of their conversation. They apparently have the same geeky habit in this world of speaking to each other through binary code.

Tony leans into her line of vision. "What did he say?"

"About?" she asks, blinking.

"The numbers?" Tony's brow furrows. "Do they mean anything?"

Her eyes go misty for a moment. "We used to talk in binary when Matty started figuring out what certain words meant. You know, kids."

"Yeah, kids." He gestures with his hands. "And?"

"The first word was work." Her lips press into a tight line. "The second one could've been bathroom. Or kitchen. Or computer. Those words were always close."

With that, Tony jumps to his feet.

Zoe follows him. "What? What is it?"

"Tim's computer." He inhales a little raggedly. "The answer is in there."

"I don't follow. You're talking crazy."

"On the jump drives," he says simply. "Tim isn't talking about his Audi key. He's talking about the key to the jump drive on his computer!" He glances down to the evidence-bagged, barf covered jump drive in his hand. "I need to get back to the station. Now."

Delilah nods absently, her eyes fixated on the cordless phone. "You'll bring him home, right?"

"I promise to do everything I can," he says and that makes Zoe smile. Then he glances at Delilah's cell: "Hey Bishop, did you get anything?"

_"All I found out was that Tim is west of the city, somewhere rural. Really rural. I narrowed it down to a one mile radius near Shenandoah National Park. We didn't have a long enough call for me to get anything better than that."_ A crinkle on the other end sounds like a candy bar wrapper being opened. " _Or he might've been moving."_

"Thanks, El. Call me if you get anything else."

She pauses. _"And you are?"_

He mentally kicks himself for falling back into his old ways so easily with his team. "Tony DiNozzo. Metro Detective. Tim's neighbor and friend."

_"I heard from Delilah that Metro was trying their hand at this."_ There's another crinkle on the other end. " _No offense, Detective. But if I'm having a hard time finding on Tim's location with the NSA's toys, I doubt Metro will be able to find anything on their own."_

"So you'll help then."

_"Absolutely. I'm going to replay the audio and see if I can isolate any background noises. But the only thing I can say is It might take a while."_

"What do you need from me?"

She giggles. _"I think better while I'm eating. I need one large pizza – "_

"With pepperoni, pineapples, green peppers, black olives, and extra cheese. Done," he finishes, remembering all the times he got stuck ordering _that_ pizza from the shop near the Navy Yard.

_"How did you know that?"_

When he notices Delilah and Zoe staring at him shocked, he pales. "Lucky guess, I guess. You just sounded like the type. It's one of my favorite games to play as a detective. Figure out what kind of pizza people like based on how they sound."

Thankfully, she takes him at his word. _"Delilah knows where to send it."_

"Call me when you get something."

_"I don't have your number."_

Paling even further, he rattles off his cell number and his badge number for good measure. Then before anyone has a chance to ask about the pizza slip-up, he turns to Zoe: "I'll be back soon, Keates."

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Stay safe, Spider."

"I always am."

Tony goes to peck her cheek, but she pulls him into her arms instead. There's an urgency in her kiss like she isn't sure whether he'll be coming home after this one, like she isn't sure what kind of evil he'll face out there. He holds her tight, promises that he'll move hell and earth to come back to her, to bring Tim back to Delilah because it's part of his job and his duty.

He feels her earnest stare on his back the whole way out of the house. Even though the day's temperatures have climbed steadily up to sweltering and beyond, he is chilled straight to the bone. Whatever danger he is up against sneaks ever closer to his family.

Tony climbs into Highkin's car and takes the short way to the precinct. As he steps off the elevator, he gets a good look at the situation room in the squad room. A whiteboard with Tim's police ID picture and a few scrawled lines—likely, the few details they turned up from Tony's account—stands in the center of the empty room. In times like this, most of the force would be out running down whatever lead they could turn up to bring their missing member home.

One of the unlucky to be left behind is an overzealous rookie with too much balls and not enough sense. He stops Tony by the elevator.

"What are you doing back, Detective?" the rookie asks. "Weren't you put on personal leave?"

Tony grins. "Sparr asked me to grab something from her desk. You know how she is."

The rookie rolls his eyes. "You know what they say about female partners."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You can't shoot 'em and you can't screw 'em."

Tony glares him down. "You should probably say something like that to someone who didn't marry their first partner, officer."

The color drains from the rookie's face. "Uh, I'm sorry, detective. I had no idea. I didn't mean any offense. I'm sure your wife is – "

"Quit while you're ahead," Tony snaps.

The rookie clamps his mouth shut, nodding.

"And learn some G-damned respect."

The rookie nods so hard that he looks as though he might knock his skull loose from his neck.

Without another word, Tony turns towards the forensic department for Tim's computer. When the rookie clears his throat, Tony looks over his shoulder with a murderous glare.

"Uh, detective. Your partner's desk is that way," the rookie says, crooking his thumb back towards the squad room.

Tony makes a face. "I'm aware of that. And unless you want Detective Sparr to find out that you're a sexist jerk, I highly suggest you forget I was even here."

The rookie swallows audibly before he slinks back to the squad room with his tail between his legs. Running his hand over his face, Tony wonders where Metro is getting their recruits these days. When he was a rookie, he never would've been gutsy—or stupid—enough to question a superior's actions. Report them to the brass for being dirty, sure. But never to question their sense of duty.

Having already been seen, he walks with a sense of purpose towards the forensics department. What feels like hours later that he sits at Tim's desk with the vomit slick jump drive in his hand.

It isn't until he hacks—at least that's what he considers his mad computer skills of typing _Farragut_ into the password prompt— into Tim's computer. Staring at the home screen, he fiddles with mouse. He glances through the programs and recognizes the word processing program he uses for his reports, but realizes that's the only thing he truly recognizes.

_Can I even have both jump drives in the computer at the same time?_

He pulls out his cell phone and thankfully, her number is the same here.

He speaks first. "Hey Bishop, what do you know about computers?"


	31. Chapter 31

**4:32pm – Metro Police Station – Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

" _More than you, I take it, Detective."_ Tony hears the smile in Ellie's voice.

Tony fumbles with the mouse again. "Yeah, I know how to turn it on."

_"Well, that's a start."_ She laughs. _"Now tell me, Detective. What's the IP address of the machine that you'd like me to access?"_

"Uh…."

She laughs again. _"Nevermind, I'll find. It'll take a few minutes. You might as well get comfortable."_

Leaning back in Tim's chair, Tony relaxes as much as he can, which isn't much. He wrings his hands, drums his fingers on the desktop, and studies the picture of Delilah and Matty. It was taken before she was paralyzed, on a hiking trip somewhere in a far-off set of mountains. He listens to the diligent tap of Ellie's fingers on her keyboard, the click of her mouse, and the sound of her eating what is probably the pizza he paid for.

Eventually, his stomach growls loud enough to make Ellie giggle.

Back home, Tim always kept his snacks in his bottom left desk drawer and it's the same here. There, he finds Nutter Butters, turkey jerky, and enough candy to fund a dentist until retirement. Tony pulls out a package of Nutter Butters and a Twix bar, then dives in. The crinkle of the wrapper makes Ellie go silent.

" _What are you eating_?" she asks.

Tony struggles to swallow the cookies, but the peanut butter is wedged in his teeth. He grabs a bottle of water from Tim's stash.

"Why do you want to know?" he replies.

_"Food helps me focus and picture the scene."_

He can't help but smile. "So you're picturing me stuffing my face?"

_"I didn't say that. But if you don't want to tell me…"_

"I'm eating Nutter Butters. Tim is a huge fan of them." He glances back to his friend's overflowing desk drawer. "But don't tell Delilah that I found them."

_"Don't worry, I get it."_ Ellie gets back to typing. _"Delilah made me cookies once. Who uses carob and almond flour in chocolate chip cookies anyway? I can't read Tolstoy anymore. It makes me think about those awful cookies."_

Tony laughs. "That sounds about right."

Several minutes later, the mouse icon on the screen moves of its own accord.

_"There we go,"_ Ellie breathes. _"I'm in."_

"That was quicker than I expected."

_"It's got nothing to do with Tim's computer. His firewalls were hell to get through. Metro's servers are just outdated, so I just had to overwhelm them and bam! Let's see what we got. Are those jump drives plugged in?"_

Tony stares at the computer. The one from earlier is inside the right slot, but the vomit covered one is still on the desk.

"Can I put them both in at the same time?"

Ellie laughs. "Oh, _Detective."_

He takes that to mean, _yes, you can you Luddite._ So he places the other jump drive into the computer slot and stares at his phone as though he could see Ellie work through it. Then his eyes snap back to the computer screen as he watches the machine process what he just placed in. Multiple spreadsheets and word processing documents pop up, but they're all in gibberish. Another window appears and the words start to morph into readable text like hacker magic.

_"Tell me what kind of food Tim has in his desk,"_ Ellie says suddenly.

Tony stares at the phone, dumbfounded for a second. "Uh, what?"

_"It'll help my process."_

"Seriously?"

_"Absolutely._ "

"Yeah, okay." At this point, he'll do anything if it'll help bring Tim home. He paws through the junk food drawer and piles the food on Tim's desk. "Nutter butters. Jar of Jif. Peanut butter cups. Ritz peanut butter crackers. Tur – "

_"A fan of peanut butter, huh?"_ Mouse clicks and typing. " _It sounds like Tim and I could be friends."_

Tony rolls his eyes. "Turkey jerky. Cup Noodles. Can of Spaghetti-O's. How the hell much food does he have in here?" He reaches into the very back to find a wrinkled package. "Skittles?"

_"I like the red and purple ones. The green ones are nasty."_

"Should I eat them while you work?"

She laughs. _"I'm not that weird."_

Tony hazards a small smile. "Sure. I picture you sitting on the floor of the NSA library with your PC next to an empty pizza box. You've got one headphone in your...let's see, right ear? And you're listening to….Beyonce."

_"Almost. Lady Gaga and – "_ she makes a scoffing noise _" –I use a Mac, thanks."_

He watches her move through the information on the computer screen. "Then you and Tim can't be friends. He's a PC for life kind of guy."

_"He just hasn't been enlightened yet."_

"Well, you try telling him that when you meet him. It'd be like trying to get me to give up my Sig in exchange for a Glock." He unconsciously puts his hand on his weapon. "Okay, bad example. But – "

On the other end of the line, Ellie gasps.

"What? Did you find him?"

_"No."_ There's a pause. _"Not that, I'm sorry. Do you know what this is?"_

Staring at the screen, Tony skims the list of names and addresses. They look identical to the information that NCIS had. He shakes his head, disappointed that he's basically back to square one.

"Yeah, NCIS already went through this. It's a bunch of dead ends."

_"Not quite."_ She pauses again. " _Okay, I lied. Some of them are, but the rest are just off. Like O Street is in Southwest, not Northwest. I'll have to write a program, but I think they're rearranged to throw us off. Just in case…"_

"In case of what?"

_"The jump drive fell into the wrong hands. Namely, yours."_

Ripping into the bag of Skittles, Tony pops a few into his mouth. The sugar turns his stomach about as much the confusion. "I don't understand."

_"Are you – "_

"Yes," Tony says, rolling his eyes. "I'm eating the green ones."

He can almost hear her cringe. _"Sometimes, terrorists will compile information about their contacts and their competition for collateral. You know, to keep themselves from being double crossed. A burn book, of sorts. It's effective unless something like this happens. Your bomb maker would want this back before anyone found out that it was missing."_

Tony pops another fistful of candy into his mouth. "How did you – "

_"A magician never reveals her tricks."_

"Just like a hooker."

Another pause. _"What?"_

"I said, I ate a purple one. Just for you." He makes a face. "So it looks like our dirt bag made a list of other dirt bags and hid it somewhere. Then Mulroney and our dead guy stole them and that pissed off the bomb-making, dirt bag enough to whack him. We came along, found the jump drives, and his goons grabbed Tim to squeeze us into giving his info back. If he doesn't get it back, he's a dead man when those other dirt bags find out, right?"

_"It appears to be that way. But your bomb-making dirt bag has a name."_ The way she says it, it almost sounds like she is quizzing Tony to determine how much he knows, not fishing for information.

Tony finishes the bag of Skittles, thinking Ellie might be on to something with her constant eating. "Elijah Borress. That name's come up a few times in our investigation."

She lets out a hiss.

"Are you familiar with him?"

_"I've been hearing his name in our chatter for a few months now, but I'm not at liberty to discuss active NSA investigations."_ She sighs. " _I'm sorry, Detective."_

Tony watches the monitor as she remotely picks through Tim's computer. "Just tell me if there's anything to help us find Tim in there?"

_"Not yet. But I'm hoping there will be ."_ There's a long moment before she delicately says: _"Detective, what do you plan to do with your findings?"_

Blinking, Tony stares mutely at the phone. He hadn't thought that far ahead yet. He'd been so focused on finding Tim that solving his actual case hadn't even crossed his mind. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes to ward off the exhaustion that creeps just beneath the surface.

_"Detective?"_

He shakes his head, shrugs. "I have no idea, Bish. Arrest the dirt bags? Punt into to the FBI? NCIS?"

_"NCIS?"_ She groans. _"I wasn't expecting to hear that name again so soon."_

"Why?"

_"It's a long story. Let's just leave it at that."_ She pauses for a long moment, munching. _"Look, I have to give what you brought me to my higher ups. And I can guarantee that they're going to raid every valid address on this spreadsheet."_

The pit forming in Tony's stomach threatens to swallow him whole. "Bishop, I need more time."

_"I know and so do I."_ Another crunch of probably some sort of snack food. _"I'll see what I can do to cross references the addresses with the data I pull off the audio of your phone call. As soon as I get a reasonable hit, I'll notify you first. You'll call the shots until Tim is found."_

"Thanks, Bish. I'll owe you one."

_"Bish…I like the sound of that. "_ She goes quiet for a split second. _"Mind I cash in on that favor now?"_

He laughs half-heartedly. "Damn, that was quick. What do you need?"

_"Let the NSA have the win on this one. Whatever comes out of the jump drives, let us have the bust. It'll save you a lot of headache-not to mention, paperwork-later. I'll keep you in the loop on what I find out about Tim and we'll call it even?"_

"That sounds fair to me." He pulls the jump drives out of the computer and climbs to his feet. "I need to go and – "

_"There's one more thing, Detective."_

His eyes jump from the door to the phone in his hands. "Yeah?"

_"I think I locatedthe last jump drive. Metro is in possession of two. NCIS has two in their official evidence log, but I'm seeing something different in their forensic scientist's log. She appears to have three in her lab. I think that might be the last one that you're looking for."_

"Thanks, Bish. Call me as soon as you have something from the audio."

_"And you contact me when you get those drives. I need access to it."_ She chuckles. _"So I guess it's a race?"_

He smiles slightly at the lighthearted prospect. "May the best man win."

_"Or woman."_

Before he has a chance to reply, the line goes dead. He pockets the jump drives and heads into the hallway. Even though he shouldn't even consider stealing Metro's evidence, he has every intention of going through the motions to exchange them for Tim. If some government agency beats him to the punch, he'll consider them lucky. If not, he'll pretend to give Tim's abductors what they want, save his friend, and let an army of Metro officers and government alphabet soup descend on them.

He runs his hand through his hair as he waits for the elevator. The rookie lurks in the entrance to the squad room as though he is trying to determine whether Tony is dirty or just misguided.

_I guess this is the last time I can set foot in here until this whole thing is over. Not like it matters anyway._

First, he needs to figure out how to steal three jump drives from Abby Scuito. Next to Tim, she is the most paranoid person that Tony has ever met. After her last failed attempt to work with an assistant, she'd managed to rig her lab with a panic button that locked it down from the inside. He never even tried to pretend that he understood her layer upon layers of firewall security. In fact, he hasn't no idea how Ellie managed to wheedle her way in undetected.

_Or maybe Abby knows Ellie was there. Whatever the case, I'm going to need reinforcements._

On his way into the elevator, he hits a familiar speed dial.

_"Big D, nice to hear from you,"_ Sparr says, like she's putting on a show. _"And here, I thought you left me to do all of the heavy lifting."_

"Can you meet me at NCIS? It seems like they've been holding out on us."

_"Sure, I can meet you over there in a few."_ She talks unintelligibly to someone else for a few moments before she coos: _"By the way, Big D, can Ali come too?"_

He squints at his reflection in the elevator door. "Who the hell is Ali?"

_"Oh, DiNozzo, don't be so silly,"_ she sing-songs. _"You remember ATF Agent Highkin. He's been very helpful in our investigation so far and I think he'd like to get his car back."_

When the doors open, Tony grits his teeth on the way into the garage. It takes him a split second to come up with an idea that should get him into Abby's lab undetected.

"Yeah, bring Highkin with you. We could use the distraction." He unlocks the SUV. "I have a plan. And it might just involve kicking Gibbs and Highkin's ass at the same time."

She forces a laugh that sounds like a bell. _"I can't wait. I love killing two birds with one stone."_


	32. Chapter 32

**5:12pm – On the Street – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC – Naval Yard –**

When Tony arrives at NCIS, Andrea Sparr and Alistair Highkin are already waiting for him out front. Since he notices a squad car in one of the closest parking spaces, Tony leaves Highkin's SUV clear on the other side of the parking lot in case they need a quick getaway. Then he jogs over to meet them. By the time he joins them, he is panting from the effort.

Sparr tilts her head at Tony, acting as though she has something better to be doing. Even though he knows she is putting on a show to string Highkin along, it still gets under his skin. How no one—not even his former team—is acting like finding Tim is priority right now is beyond him.

"Took ya long enough, Big D," Sparr greets. "We've been waiting for at least 10 minutes."

Next to her, Highkin nods disapprovingly. "Yeah, we don't really have time for a detour. But Andrea said you had something relevant to our case. So I made an exception"

Tony just rolls his eyes.

Before they head inside, Highkin stops Tony. "I believe you have my car keys."

"Yeah," Tony says as he passes them over. "Nice keychain, by the way. My nine-year-old has the same one."

Narrowing his eyes, Highkin slips them into his jacket pocket. "Do you care to tell me what you brought us all the way down here for, Detective? Andrea said you were a little scant on the details."

Tony shoots Sparr a _look_ and she shrugs back helplessly, telling him that he's on his own for this one. They didn't even have a chance to get their stories straight, but she's ready to follow him down whatever rabbit hole he chooses.

But he doesn't even know where he's headed. He couldn't come up with a plan on the car ride over. He figured if he managed to get Highkin and NCIS together, everything would just fall into place. Now that he's here in the moment, ready to act, he has no idea what the hell to do.

He glances at the door that he spent the last 12 years of his life walking into with a new-found fear. Against the greying sky, the brick building is as much a stranger to him as everyone he has met since he got here. Inside, the security guards watch them, clearly interested in the party outside.

Sparr kicks Tony in the shin.

Highkin clears his throat. "Detective?"

"It was brought to my attention that NCIS is withholding evidence," Tony says, watching Highkin's expression darken. "From both of us."

Sparr lets out a little gasp. "Are you serious?"

Tony nods seriously. "As a heart attack. I heard they found explosives at their last crime scene and forget to notify you and the ATF, Agent Highkin."

"I knew that Navy bastard was up to his usual tricks," Sparr says airily. "What should we do about it?"

Highkin tightens his tie and straightens his back so he towers over her and Tony. "Let me see what I can do, Andrea. Of course, you're welcome to share whatever we find."

Leaning up against the door, she twirls a piece of hair around her finger. "Thanks, Ali. You're the only one who truly respects interagency cooperation."

With a self-satisfied smile, Highkin leans closer to her. When Tony clears his throat, Highkin flinches like he's been shot and glances back towards the NCIS lobby.

"You're right, Detective. Maybe we should get on with it," he says.

After giving Sparr another leering grin, Highkin wrests the door open. As soon as his back is to her, Sparr pretends to vomit. It takes all of Tony's willpower not to laugh. Without waiting for them, Highkin launches a full-scale attack on the security desk by waving his badge. Behind the desk, the security guards stare at him as though they're used to agents threatening to have Gibbs fired is commonplace.

Tony and Sparr hang back.

"Great plan to light a fire under Highkin's ass," she whispers. "If he thinks NCIS is holding out on – "

"I wasn't lying," Tony interrupts.

Sparr blinks. "What? I thought you had access to everything they have…"

"I did too. But it turns out that there's another jump drive logged in their evidence reports that we didn't know about."

She presses her hand against her face and muffles the string of expletives. "How'd you find out about that?"

"A little bird in the NSA decided to sing. The catch is we have to give them the collar on this one."

Crossing her arms, Sparr shifts her weight. "As long as Tim McGee comes home safe and that Navy bastard doesn't get the credit, I don't care who does."

Tony eyes Highkin.

"He's still better than Gibbs."

Tony can't help but laugh. "I have a feeling the NSA is probably going to go over both of their heads."

Her smile is wicked and fleeting. "So now what?"

"I'm working out the details." When he smiles like he knows what the hell he's doing, she nods as though she'd follow him to the ends of the earth. "Did you turn up anything at the scene?"

"After Highkin's minions were done, I found this in the garage."

Her expression turns morose when she hands Tony an evidence bag. Inside is a plain gold wedding band with the words _TM – All my heart. Always. – DF_ inscribed on the interior.

Tony's heart sinks straight into his stomach. "He was probably doing anything he could to let someone know he'd be there before they moved him."

"It's what I would do. Leave as much evidence I could and pray that someone followed the clues to wherever they took me." Sparr looks away. "But there wasn't any sign of where they were headed."

"Figures. I'm still waiting for my NSA contact to pull something from the phone conversation."

Sparr nods. "The nerds came up empty."

"Of course they did."

"Do you know who I am?" Highkin suddenly yells, grabbing Tony and Sparr's attention.

At the security desk, Highkin gesticulates wildly at his badge while two guards stare at him blankly. Terrence, Tony's reject guardian angel, is only one working. Without even acknowledging Highkin, he placidly fills out paperwork before placing a visitor's badge on the counter.

Highkin turns around, victorious. "Detectives!"

Tony smiles at Sparr. "Milady, your Prince Charming awaits."

After she steps on Tony's foot, she shoots Highkin a broad and fake grin as she heads over. When she reaches him, he takes care to clip the badge on her shirt like a teenager pinning a corsage to his date's dress. Based on the way Sparr's body tenses, she might as well as be in the process of being branded.

"That's wonderful, Ali," she coos, trying to hide her disdain. "I can't believe you did it."

When Tony joins them, Highkin throws the badge at him. As he clips it to his shirt, Tony rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, Tony feels someone staring him. When he glances at the security desk, he finds Terrence watching him as though the good for nothing angel tries to determine Tony's intentions. For the first time since he got here, Tony didn't visit NCIS to wheedle his way back into his old life. Instead, he's ready to do whatever it takes to get his friend back. As though sensing this, Terrence nods.

"Agent Ross will meet you in the forensics lab, Detectives," Terrence calls. "I would take you up there myself, but – " The phone rings and he gesture to it " – they don't answer themselves."

Tony gives him a little salute in thanks. Terrence smiles.

Highkin starts, "Where's – "

"I know the way, _Ali,_ " Tony says.

With Highkin's menacing glare boring a hole in his back, Tony leads the way to the elevator. In the reflection of the doors, Tony can see Highkin still glaring at him and Sparr watching him questioningly. They take the trip in silence to the basement.

As soon as the door opens, the comforting thump of Abby Scuito's industrial, goth-rock fills the hallway. The smells of French fries and burning plastic laced with a sickeningly sweet, juicy odor greets them. Tony inhales deeply, surprised just how fragrant CafPow is.

On the way to the lab, he stops by the evidence fridge—where Gibbs stores his back-up CafPows. Thankfully, there is an entire army lined up at attention, ready to given to Abby as a reward. Tony doesn't even break his stride as he swipes one.

He hustles into the lab with Sparr and Highkin in tow.

While everything changed in Tony's universe, nothing has in Abby's. The wall décor is still as morose and unsettling as her stuffed animals are cheerful. She stands in the corner, actively chattering away to one of her instruments while Zeke Ross types at her computer. An overflowing box of evidence labeled _Jackson Mulroney_ sits on her table next to a smaller, nearly empty one that reads _Timothy McGee._

_His case isn't even important to people who know him._

"Why do you always have to be like that?" Abby Scuito moans.

Nothing but silence. Shaking his head at Sparr, Highkin wrinkles his nose.

"Why don't you answer the lady?" Highkin asks, addressing Zeke.

Both Abby and Zeke almost jump out of their skin. Abby just eyes them warily, unsettled by having strangers in her lab. Zeke just makes a face and turns back to his work.

"Because I wasn't talking to Zeke, I was talking to Major Mass Spec," she says as though it explains everything. And it does…to Tony. "Who are you people and what are you doing in my lab?"

Tony flashes his badge and his best grin. "Detectives DiNozzo and Sparr. That's – " he nods towards Highkin " – Agent Highwater." That earns him a death glare. "We're here because Agent Gibbs sent us to check on the progress for the Tim McGee case."

When Abby stares at him as though she doesn't believe a word, Tony waggles the CafPow as though it could seal the deal. She checks in with Zeke, but he almost imperceptibly shakes his head.

That sets Highkin off. "You're lucky that I'm not here to seize everything because…"

Tony tunes him out his rant about how NCIS is invading on an ATF investigation as he picks through the evidence box. Sparr quickly catches on and using Highkin's tirade as a distraction, they fumble through the bags to pluck out the three jump drives. Just as Tony pockets the last one, Abby catches on.

"Are you stealing _my_ evidence, Detective?" she howls.

Tony pales. "No, I – "

And that's the moment he notices that her gloved hand hovers over the red panic button on the wall by Major Mass Spec. One push and they'll all be locked in the lab until Gibbs and the rest of the team shows up to unseal the door from the outside.

"We're all in this together. To bring Tim home, right?" he says like he's trying to talk someone off the ledge. "Just think about what you're about to do."

Maybe she does and maybe she doesn't because a split second later, she throws her weight against the panic button. Sparr grabs Tony's hand and pulls him out of the lab just in time for the door to slam behind him. Tony looks back to see Highkin pounding on the door.

In the hallway, an alarm rips through the silence and shreds what's left of Tony's nerves. The flashing strobe light makes his movements appear jerky and turns his stomach. Sparr is still holding his hand as she drags him towards the elevator. Once the doors close around them, Sparr bounces on her heels.

"What the fuck was that?" she asks.

"One paranoid lab rat," Tony shoots back.

She rakes a shaking hand through her hair. "I got one. Did you – "

"Got the other two," he says, nodding.

"Oh thank G-d. Now, let's get the hell out of here before anyone figures out what just happened."

As soon as the doors open, Tony and Sparr sprint through the quiet lobby. Passerby glance, staring wide-eyed to watch the two detectives run towards the exit. Terrence stands at the front door, holding it open and grinning at them.

"Have a nice day, Detectives!"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**6:15pm - Metro Police Station – Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

By the time he and Sparr get back to the police station, Tony is _exhausted_. The last bits of adrenaline ebbed away somewhere in Downtown, leaving his head aching and his body sore.

However, Sparr is still hopped up on the miraculous substance. After they sneak into in Tim's computer lair, she takes over the captain's chair and sets into Tim's computer like she knows what the hell she's doing. But when she puts one of the newest jump drives into the computer tower, it pops up in nothing but a garbled mess.

She frowns. "What the hell do we do now?"

"Break out the secret weapon," Tony says, pulling out his cell phone.

"And what's that?"

With a grin, he dials Ellie's phone number. She answers on the first ring.

_"Detective, I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. Look, I analyzed the recording of the phone call a few more times and – "_

"Do you know where Tim is?" Tony interrupts.

She clears her throat. _"I can predict with a forty-five percent accuracy that he's being held at an abandoned motel near Shenandoah National Park."_

Tony makes a face. "What do you mean forty-five percent accuracy?"

_"I'm an analyst, Detective. My career lives and dies by the odds of probability."_ Ellie gives a lengthy pause. _"Do you want me to contact HRT for you? They could be there within the hour."_

Tony and Sparr share a grim look. Based on the look in her eyes, they both share the same thought. Forty-five percent is a long-shot, at best. Worse than the flip of a coin. And those aren't good enough odds to help their friend. Sparr nods as though to say, _we're in this together, partner._

_"Should I contact HRT, Detective?"_ Ellie repeats.

Tony presses his lips together. "What are the odds that Tim's still alive right now?"

_"You have what they need. So I would say that it's likely one hundred percent. If these people are like what my intel leads me to believe, they won't kill him until they have what they want in hand. He is too valuable because they_ need _those jump drives."_

"Then hold off on HRT. My partner and I got the rest of the jump drives – "

_"How?"_ Ellie blurts out.

Tony chuckles. "It's best for you not to know. We're going upload everything into Tim's computer. Then do whatever you need to do, okay?"

_"That sounds good. What are you going to do about Tim?"_

"We're going to set-up the meet."

_"It has a fifteen percent chance of ending poorly."_ Ellie gives a long pause before she adds, _"For everyone involved."_

Tony hazards a glance at Sparr. "Well, I guess that's a risk we're going to have to take."


	33. Chapter 33

**9:37pm – Dulles International Airport, Washington, DC – Long-term Parking –**

Rocking on the heels of his sneakers, Tony checks his watch. _Again._

Of course, the kidnappers are late. Really fucking late.

At the ten-minute mark, Tony thought they might be going for fashionable. But now that it's nearing forty minutes late, he worries they might not be coming at all. He doesn't even want to think about what that means for Tim.

Why didn't he listen to their instructions?

Maybe because that trite, overused line of _come alone and unarmed_ only ends well in movies. Never in real life. In the real world, he and Tim get a bullet in the back of the head before being dumped in a shallow grave. Then Sparr would be left to solve their murder, alone.

Pushing a breath through his teeth, Tony fingers the evidence bag of jump drives in his pocket.

_If they wanted these, shouldn't they be here by now?_

Could they have gotten spooked? Maybe they saw Sparr standing by Tony's side, sidearm on her right hip and badge glinting under the streetlamp. Or they figured out that the four men loading and unloading and reloading suitcases from their cars are undercover policemen. Or they caught sight of the black and whites further up the block, just waiting for the signal to swoop in.

_Or Tim is already dead._

Not wanting to go _there_ , Tony groans softly.

Sparr pulls her eyes off the rows of cars to glance over. Determination burns brighter in her eyes than the low-hanging, full moon. If he were to just reach up, he could touch it. Maybe it would whisk him away from here, back to the place he used to call home. Though this place is starting to feel a lot like it.

"They're coming," she says resolutely.

Tony tilts his head. "What if – "

"They. Are. Coming." She settles into her stance. "We bring Tim home. Tonight." The _dead or alive_ goes unspoken between them.

And Tony is smart enough to leave it at that. Sparr and Tony resume their restless vigil in the moon-washed darkness while the mosquitos pretend they're a midnight snack. Even though the night is just beginning, the heat of the day digs its claws in deeper. The air is still sweltering, stifling, radiating back at them from the asphalt, from the metal from the cars, from each other. Tony imagines it's what it feels like to be baked in an oven. He tells himself that it isn't his nerves. Like he could believe that one.

Sparr suddenly tenses. Her hand hovers over her holstered weapon.

"I see something, DiNozzo," she whispers. "Are you ready?"

He squints against the dark. "As I'll ever be."

"I got your back, Big D."

He half-smiles. "On your six, Sparr."

"I guess it's show time," she says with a nervous laugh.

Two men on foot approach them from the adjacent row of cars. They come to a stop in the middle of the glow of a street lamp. In the dim light, Tony can barely distinguish their facial features, but they look so G-damned familiar that it nearly drives him crazy. One is short and portly while the other is tall and sickly-thin. After a long moment, Tony realizes where he has seen them before. From a movie. He always recognizes people from the films he watches. The pair look so much like Abbott and Costello that Tony's brain breaks into a rendition of _Who's on First?_ before he can stop it.

_Strange as it may seem, they give ball players nowadays very peculiar names._

_Funny names?_

_Nicknames, nicknames. Now on the St. Louis team, we have…_

Shaking his head, Abbott makes a _tsk-_ ing noise with his tongue. "You didn't follow our instructions, Detective DiNozzo. You were supposed to come alone and unarmed."

"She's the one with the gun." Tony holds out his hands to display his empty hips. The back-up revolver on his ankle suddenly weighs him down like concrete. "And I did come alone. My partner followed me. I had no idea that she was there until I got here. Just like I'm sure yours tagged along too."

Costello stifles a snort while Abbott shoots him a dirty look. Still the funny man playing to Abbott's straight man. Sparr's hand rests on her Glock while Costello keeps his gun pointed at the ground.

"Look, we're here to do business," Tony says. "A trade. Our friend for your jump drives."

Abbott nods carefully. "That's right."

"Now, where's Tim McGee?"

"Around here somewhere," Costello says, still laughing.

"Then I guess neither of us is playing by the rules. Because you said you'd bring him in exchange for the jump drives." Anger rises in his throat as Tony pulls out the evidence bag. "I brought what you asked and you didn't even – "

Abbott smirks. In the near-dark, it borders on demonic.

_Fuck. Tim is dead._

Tony's heart plummets straight into his stomach.

_He can't be. He can't be. He can't –_

"What did you do?!" he yells. "What the fuck did you bastards do!?"

Before Sparr has a chance to grab him, Tony rushes at the men, ready to rip them apart with his bare hands. Costello steps forward to sucker punch Tony in the face. He falls to the ground, woozy and disoriented. When he glances up, he stares down the business end of Sig Sauer.

In that moment, his mind whirls with thoughts of his children, his _wife_ , his life here in this world. He doesn't think about where he came from. Not even once. All he wants is to see his girls one last time.

"Give me the drives," Costello growls, free hand outstretched.

Tony clutches them closer to his chest, unable to sacrifice the last thing that could bring Tim home. Unable to let go of the last that keeping Tim alive.

Costello pulls back the hammer on his gun. "Do it now!"

"Yeah, I don't think so, asshole. You shoot him and I'll drop you," Sparr barks, her weapon now pointed at Costello. "Where in the hell is our friend?"

Abbott laughs like this whole thing is one sick, twisted, fucked-up joke. When he reaches into his pocket, Sparr's eyes jump to him, desperate to determine who's the bigger threat. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and tosses them on the ground next to Tony.

"There's your friend," he says. "Now, give us the drives."

Tony glances up. "What the hell is – "

At that moment, Costello wrests the evidence bag out of Tony's hands. Then he and Abbott bolt away from the detectives.

Sparr recovers first, sprinting after them. It doesn't take her long to catch up to Costello and take him down in a flying tackle at the knees. There's the sick slap of flesh as his head connects with the pavement. He starts clawing at her, but she plants her gun against his heart. His body goes rigid as he glares up at her with every ounce of malice in his body.

Still dazed from the punch, Tony picks up the keyring. He turns them over in his hand, feeling the weight of the world in his palm, as he climbs to his feet. There are what appear to be house keys, a small one that is likely to a lock box, and a car key with a Buick emblem.

That's the one that turns his heart to ice, his insides to ash.

There are cars of every make and model stretching for miles in the parking lot. Finding the one where the dirt bags ditched Tim would take all night, if they're lucky. Days or weeks, if they're not.

_To find his body._

A sudden howl drags Tony straight out of his mind. Sparr holds onto Costello by his tiny patch of hair, jerking it this way and that as he screams.

"…the fuck is he?" Sparr growls through gritted teeth.

Costello has the balls to laugh. "Who are you looking for, hot stuff?"

"You know who, you bastard." Sparr double-down on the grip on her weapon. "Tim McGee. Tall, pudgy, brown hair. Geeky type. That guy you and your asshole friend snatched from the park last night."

He snarls into a smile. "Oh, _him."_

"Yeah. _Him_."

Costello half-shrugs. "Haven't seen him."

"You better be kidding, you asshole." She shoves the gun deeper into his chest until he groans. "Tell me where he is before I put a bullet in your worthless ass."

He laughs, more deranged and anxious this time. "You aren't going to shoot me. You're a _cop."_

Without hesitation, she plucks the badge from his waistband and tosses it over her shoulder. It lands near Tony's feet, sparkling in the moonlight like a forgotten, fallen star. Even though he knows he should intervene, he hangs back.

Tony is pretty sure Sparr won't shoot Costello.

Maybe.

Probably.

Fuck, he hopes she isn't that impulsive.

Sparr jams the gun against Costello's chest again. "Right now, I'm one pissed off woman who's had enough of _your shit._ "

Despite the pallor of his cheeks and the sweat pouring down his face, Costello holds his ground. As much as he can while he's got a gun to his chest and a murderous detective straddling him.

Tony steps in before Sparr destroys what's left of her career.

"Trust me, man," Tony interjects, "she won't think twice about putting you in the morgue."

Costello struggles to breathe. "But that's not how it works. You're – "

"Not even here," Tony says, starting to turn away.

Glaring down at him, Sparr readjusts her weapon to Costello's head. His shaking hands come up in surrender. His lips move, voice wavering, before he even gets the words out.

"Section 4-C. Black Buick." Swallowing hard, he looks away from Sparr. "Check the trunk."

Tony's eyes whip around the parking lot. They're smack dab in the middle of section 6-E, just at the edge of what appears to be a collection of hangars where planes are taken for maintenance. If his memory is right, section 4-C should be half-ways towards the entrance.

Meaning they passed by Tim on their way here.

_Fuck me._

His gut roils in his stomach, threatening to send his sugar-laden dinner back into his throat.

He takes a tentative step forward. Then he turns back, unsure whether he should leave Sparr alone with Costello. Because all it will take is a few pounds of pressure for her to wreck her career, the rest of her life, and everything she's worked so hard for.

She doesn't even look at him. "Go, Tony!"

And so he does.

His sneakers slap against the asphalt as he sprints through the darkness. He weaves between the parked cars, bobbing and weaving his way around sideview mirrors and misaligned sedans. Somewhere in Section D, he hears the screech of brakes and the honk of a car horn. But he doesn't slow down. He keeps going, his eyes fixed on the signs high overhead.

4-D.

Another honk.

5-C.

As soon as he hits 4-C, he slows down. By now, his heart pounds away at an insane rhythm. There's a loud _whoosh_ in his ears, but he doesn't know whether it's the blood in his veins or the planes jetting of the runway. Cold sweat pours down his back, bringing gooseflesh to his skin despite the lingering heat.

He holds the keys up in his shaking hands as he stalks down the aisle.

His eyes skirt over the parked cars, searching each and every one for the same emblem on the car key. It seems as though the only car not parked in this freaking section is a Buick.

Then, just at the edge of 3-C, Tony finds a jet black Buick parked underneath a street lamp.

Every part of him wants to run to the car, pop the trunk and rescue his friend. But there is a tiny shred of doubt that digs its claws into his heart, begging him to stay back, begging him to hold onto this moment. Because right now, for all he knows, Tim is still alive. Safe and sound and okay.

And in the blink of an eye, all of that could change. He could find Tim's body in that trunk.

Swallowing hard, Tony spurs himself into action. He rushes towards the car. He shoves the key into the trunk latch, turns it once, twice, _three times_ before the trunk gives way. The smell of sweat and shit and death and raw fear smack him in the face. Then the sweltering, stale air of the tight space follow.

_This hasn't been open for a while._

In the darkness of the trunk, Tony can only discern the outline of a man's body, folded up to fit into the tiny space. His hands are twisted awkwardly behind his back, bound by layers of duct tape. His face buried against the back of the trunk. As far as Tony can tell, they've just uncovered a corpse.

But Tony still doesn't know who he is.

He grabs the man's shoulders, heaves him out. The man is far too heavy to hold up, so all Tony manages to do is pull them both onto the steaming asphalt. Tony lands flat on his ass, but he is too busy turning the man over to even notice.

_Please don't be McGee. Please don't be –_

The dim glow catches on the hollows of the man's face, highlights on the strip of grey duct tape against his mouth. His skin is as pale as death, his body as still as a grave.

The man lying in Tony's lap is the one that he spent years flinging spitballs at, hazing like he did his younger frat brothers, and watching grow from the greenest, bumbling probie into a strong, skilled agent. And here, in this world, he is a coworker, neighbor, and the best friend Tony has ever known. Hell, he is in every world.

"I found you, buddy," he whispers, voice breaking. "I promised that I'd bring you home."

Tony's eyes start to burn as tears rise up.

"But it wasn't supposed to end like this. You were supposed to be okay. Watch Matty grow up. Grow old with Delilah. Keep trimming your side of the hedge. Maybe even come fix my side." Tony struggles to smile at his friend through the tears. "At least I know you're okay back home. When I get there, everything will be back to normal. You'll be with Delilah again. You'll be okay." He licks his lips. "I promise, you'll be okay there. I promise that I'll do a better job of protecting you."

Suddenly, he hears the slap of approaching footfalls. Whomever is coming is headed their way _fast_. Tony fumbles for the back-up revolver on his ankle. He turns back, weapon raised, only to find Sparr standing several car lengths away. He sees her outline looming against the darkness.

She hugs her arms to her chest. There's a quiet sniffle, telling Tony that she's crying too.

"Is he…"Her voice trails off as though she can't finish.

And Tony just can't bring himself to answer.

He runs his hand against Tim's cheek. His skin scorches underneath Tony's fingers. Then Tony pulls off the duct tape because he can't stand the thought of Tim's family and friends seeing him _like this._

Tim gives a gurgled cough, then he moans weakly. That's the moment Tony notices the barely participle rise and fall of Tim's chest. How the hell did he not see it before?

Tony's heart leaps straight into his throat.

How could he not check to see if Tim were alive? Why did he just assume that he'd pulled Tim's body out of that trunk? Because logic and years as an investigator told Tony that anyone locked in a trunk for _hours_ on a sweltering day shouldn't survive. They shouldn't be gasping and moaning and groaning. Their heart shouldn't be still beating.

But maybe…maybe…

_For fuck's sake…whoever's pulling the strings, I forgive you for sending me here. I'll stop fighting it. I'll stay here as long you want me to. Forever, if that's what you need._

_Just let my friend be okay._

_Please._

Tony holds his own breath as he pushes two fingers against Tim's neck to feel for a pulse.

It's weak and thready and feeble.

But it's there. _It's fucking there._

Tony gasps. "He's alive!"

Sparr takes a careful step forward. "What? How is that -"

"I don't know! But Tim's breathing. _He's alive, Sparr! He's alive!_ " Tony lets out a strangled laugh before the panicked reality sets in. "Sparr! Where the hell is that ambulance?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Monday, August 10, 2015 –Unknown Time, Maybe the Middle of the Night? – Reston Hospital Center – Reston, Va. –**

Even though he stands in a busy Emergency Department, Tony DiNozzo feels like the last man on Earth. He doesn't catch the annoyed looks from the doctors and nurses who break stride to move around him, the gurneys that nearly run him over, the anxious paramedics that rush their patients past him. Despite the amount of activity in these haunted halls, he doesn't notice any of it.

Tony's eyes have been locked on the patient in Bay 5 for what feels like hours. And it might just have been that long. With the lights on full blast and the constant motion, time is irrelevant here. Or hell, maybe it's even completely stopped.

He is trapped in limbo: unable to bring himself to go into the room and unable to join his family in the waiting room. Rooted to the floor, he is trapped here…waiting for something—anything— to happen.

Swallowing hard, Tony continues to watch the hospital room.

Lying in a hospital bed, Tim McGee is hooked up to every monitor imaginable. His skin is still chalk-white, but a touch of redness returned to his cheeks, making him look human again. His body is slack, limp, unmoving. He never regained consciousness and that's what scares Tony the most.

Delilah McGee sits stoically by his side, clutching his left hand and trying her best not to cry. That glazed look on her face, that vacant stare in her eyes reminds Tony a lot of how Tim appeared after she'd been paralyzed back home. Like he wasn't completely there…like he was just going through the motions until he woke from his nightmare.

A young man in navy scrubs and a doctor's long, white coat rushes up the hallway, his attention buried in a medical file. Tony expects him to move because, well, everyone else has so far. But the doctor barrels straight into Tony, nearly knocking him over. His file plummet to the floor, papers flying everywhere. Giving an anxious laugh, the doctor drops to his knees to clean up.

"Sorry," he mutters, almost to himself. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should've been paying attention."

Tony kneels to help him. "Don't worry about it. I was in the way."

When Tony scoops up the file, the name on the edge makes his heart skip a beat.

_McGee, Timothy._

"Are you Tim McGee's doctor?" Tony asks, offering the young doctor his file.

"Yeah." After he makes a face, he says a little surer: "Yes, I am. Dr. Robert Hineman. Well, I'm a first-year resident, but I do have a lice – "

"How is he?" Tony blurts out.

Dr. Hineman stares at him for a long moment. "Are you family?"

Tony rolls his eyes at hospital protocol and HIPPA and the other bureaucratic bullshit that holds back information about whether his friend will live or die.

"I'm his neighbor," Tony says.

"Ah," Dr. Hineman starts, "I can't really – "

"It's okay, doctor," Delilah says quietly, appearing in the doorway to Tim's room. "You can tell him whatever you came to tell me. Detective DiNozzo might as well be a part of our family."

Tony's breath catches in his throat.

_Wow, I never thought we could be that close._

He glances up at Delilah. Her thumbs anxiously dance over the treads of her tires as she cautiously watches the two men. Dr. Hineman stares up at her with a slack-jaw as though he has never encountered a patient's family before. And Tony thinks he might not have.

Her shoulders hitch. "How is my husband?"

After standing up, Tony moves to Delilah's side. Dr. Hineman scoops up his file, then climbs to his feet. He gives Delilah one long, terrified stare before he flips open his folder.

Then he reads: "Respirations are good. EKG is normal. His body temperature was quite elevated when he got here which is what we would expect after– "

When Delilah reaches for Tony's hand, he clears his throat as though to say _cut to the chase, doc_.

Dr. Hineman flinches. When his eyes land on Delilah, his gaze softens.

"Mrs. McGee, your husband has been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours," he says carefully. "He came in with severe dehydration and heat stroke. We were able to get his body temperature under control with the cooling blankets and we're still replenishing his fluids." Dr. Hineman checks his chart. "When we ran a standard tox screen, it came back positive for trace amounts of GHB."

Delilah squeezes Tony's hand so hard that it begins to hurt. "But is he going to be okay?"

Dr. Hineman nods before he catches himself. "As far as we can tell right now. It's just a matter of letting his body metabolize the last of the drug and wait for him to wake on his own."

Visibly relaxing, Delilah releases Tony's hand. He pulls it back, flexing his fingers and working it into a fist. Before they have a chance to ask any more questions, the loudspeaker blares, _Dr. Hineman to Trauma Bay 2._ With an apologetic glance and a promise to return as soon as he can, the doctor backs down the hallway before he turns to rush away.

Delilah sighs.

"How are you holding up, Wheels?" Tony asks.

"Better now that I know he's going to be okay," she says, half-smiling. "Thank you for bringing Tim home and taking care of me and Matty. And just being here."

Cheeks blazing, Tony looks away. "I'm just being a good neighbor. I – "

"You have no idea how much it means to me." She glances back to Tim. "To us. I don't think Tim could've gotten through our accident if you weren't there. He never said anything, but I could just tell how much you helped him accept what happened to me. And now, just knowing that you're there for me too…" Her voice trails off as her eyes well up with tears.

"Anything that you guys need." Tony places his hand on her shoulder. "You know that Zoe and I will always be there for your family."

"I know." Delilah nods. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Tony whispers.

"I'm going to go back in with Tim," she says. "Do you want to join me?"

Tony shakes his head. "I don't want to get in your way. I'll be right here if you need me."

With another stilted nod, she returns to Tim's side.

At that moment, Tony's phone buzzes. It's so quiet that he barely hears it over the din of the Emergency Department and his own chaotic thoughts.

It's a text from Sparr: _I've got good news and bad news, Big D. Those unis were finally good for something. They arrested the first guy and he already plead out on kidnapping charges to avoid attempted murder. The bad news is that the fat bastard I took down is trying to press charges against me. Do you think my career can survive police brutality charges?_

Another one comes seconds later: _Just kidding. You and I both know it doesn't matter. How is Tim?_

Tony replies: _Sounds like he's going to be okay. We're just stuck waiting until he wakes._

Her retort is almost instantaneous: _That's just what I wanted to hear. Now, I need to go put the screws to that fat bastard before IA shows up to kick my ass._

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo_

**1:12am - Reston Hospital Center – Reston, Va. –**

Some time after his conversations with Delilah and Sparr, the hair on the back of Tony's neck creeps up. His skin crawls as though someone is watching him. Maybe if he weren't so tired and overwhelmed and overworked, he might have noticed the tell-tale signs of a tail sooner.

_Rule 27: Two ways to follow: First, they never notice you. Second, they only notice you._

Tony's head whips back towards the nurse's station. At that moment, he _finally_ notices the man standing halfway down the hallway with his back ramrod straight and double-fisting huge coffee cups.

Jethro Gibbs intently stares at Tony as though trying to figure out the detective's secrets.

And suddenly, Tony feels as transparent as glass with Gibbs being able to see straight through him just like he always did. If anyone—other than Riley—is going to realize he's some sort of cross-world traveler, Gibbs will the one to blow his cover well before he figures out how to get back home.

When Gibbs draws closer, Tony flinches and looks away.

"Detective DiNozzo," Gibbs says.

"Agent Gibbs, hello," Tony replies.

One of the coffee cups appears in his sight line. He accepts it with a nod. He takes a swig and it's as cold as ice. His eyes skirt back to Gibbs who is standing there, sipping his coffee and checking on Tim.

_Just how long had Gibbs been standing there?_

"So that's Delilah?" Gibbs eventually says.

Tony nods. "Yeah."

"Heard McGee had a son too."

Tony nods again. "Matty. Good kid. Smart as a whip."

"Glad to see he made a good life for himself after the team." Gibbs gives Tony a sideways glance. "He going to be okay." It's more statement than question.

Tony answers him anyway. "McGee'll pull through just fine."

Something that might be a smile skirts across Gibbs' face. "He always was stronger than people gave him credit for. Glad to see nothing's changed."

Unsure how to reply, Tony just shrugs. He takes a sip of his coffee, trying to buy himself time as his brain whirls with a possible reply for his former boss.

Gibbs beats him to the punch. "Nice work today, Detective. Consider me impressed."

Slack-jawed, Tony stares at him. Even here in a world where they have no attachment to each other, where they've never even truly met, the words mean more to Tony than they ever should.

Tony swallows hard. "Thank you, Gibbs."

Nodding, Gibbs sips his coffee. "Never woulda thought my lead was bad. Glad you listened to your gut and brought McGee back in one piece. If you hadn't…" The _Tim might've gotten dead_ goes unspoken.

"Let's not go there."

They stand there in silence for what feels like _for-fucking-ever_. Gibbs mutely watched Delilah whisper encouraging words to Tim as she strokes his cheek.

Tony tries not to lose his damned mind. He drums his fingers on the side of his coffee cup, flicks at the lid, shifts his weight from foot to foot. But Tony isn't even sure what he's so afraid of. What would happen to him if Gibbs discovered he wasn't really from this world? Could they send him to jail for that? Or maybe the funny farm?

"Listen, Detective." Gibbs doesn't look over.

With his heart in his throat, Tony tilts his head. "Yeah?"

"I could use someone like you on my team." Gibbs glances over, his face as open and earnest as Tony has ever seen. "Someone to help me keep my head on straight."

Tony's mouth falls open. He laughs awkwardly, rolls his tongue against his teeth, then presses his hand to his face. He is still drawn to Gibbs like a moth to a flame. Only here, he knows how it ends. Burned up and burned out, incinerated with nothing left of himself. He remembers the hours they spent toiling away at cases while Gibbs kept pushing them to work harder, faster, to sacrifice more of themselves.

_Just look at the life I have here. The life I have without him. Without the team. I have a wife and children. I have a real family. Not like what I used to call the team._

_I'd like to think that I'm happy here._

His eyes dart back to Tim.

_And so is he._

Then Tony says the words he never thought he could: "Sorry, Agent Gibbs, but I already have a job. I appreciate your offer."

Gibbs nods. "If you ever change your mind."

"Believe me, you'll be the first to know."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo_

**1:32am - Reston Hospital Center – Reston, Va. –**

After having job offer turned down, Gibbs resumes his post further down the hallway. He sips his coffee, watching Tony out of the corner of his eye. Tony doesn't think he's going anywhere. At least, not until he knows that Tim will pull through. And Tony likes to think that the rest of the team are out in the waiting room with Zoe and the kids. Though here, they'll be complete strangers, never knowing they congregated in the same place for the same person, for their friend, for Tim.

Tony still works on that ice-cold coffee. The last peace offering he'll ever receive from Gibbs because he is sure that after tonight, their paths will never cross again.

_I don't think I'd really mind. And that scares the hell out of me._

Suddenly, a commotion down the hallway drags Tony straight out of his damned mind. A blonde woman briskly heads down the hallway like she is supposed to be here. A dirty blonde, milquetoast man with glasses follows her closely. Even at a distance, Tony recognizes Ellie Bishop and Jake Malloy.

A nurse jumps in their way. "Ma'am! Sir! You aren't authorized to be here!"

Flashing her badge, Ellie blasts with a surprising amount of courage: "We are if it's a matter of national security. And it is. Now, please move."

With wide eyes, the nurse stares at the badge. Her mouth moves, forming no words, before she retreats to the nurses' station to discuss why the hell the NSA is here with her coworkers.

Tony's phone buzzes. Another text from Sparr: _It looks like the NSA showed up to take their pound of flesh. We're transferring our prisoners to their custody right now. They offered me an assist. Do you think I should take it? Do you want in?_

He replies: _Go, Sparr. If IA can't find you, they can't take your gun and badge. Might as well see the case through. Closing out a murder might help our case. But I'm not leaving Tim._

She returns it. _Good point. I'll do the best I can to keep IA off your back, DiNozzo. I'll check in after I figure out what's going on here. Going dark now._

Tony fires back: _We go down together, partner. Good luck._

When Sparr doesn't respond, he figures she turned off her cell phone. He pictures her hiding in the tombs with the prisoners before they're whisked away by the NSA. If IA comes after them—which they will due to the unsanctioned and unapproved meet—Tony knows they made the right choice. Bringing Tim home is worth whatever consequences they'll soon face.

Suddenly, Ellie materializes by Tony's side.

It seems her metabolism isn't as kind to her here as it is back home. Her grey suit grabs her curves at just the right angles, highlighting her surprisingly zaftig figure. Tony wills himself not to glance at the ample cleavage peeking out from her green, button down shirt. Not with her husband standing right there, he won't look, _can't look._

_Hell, it's Bishop. She's like that little sister I never had._

Thankfully, Jake doesn't intervene. Hanging back, he keeps a watchful eye on Ellie. And while he may be a cheating bastard back home, Tony can't miss the look in Jake's eyes here. They're full of love, devotion, mutual respect. Maybe he and Tim aren't the only ones to make out better in this world.

Ellie takes one glance at Delilah through the glass. Their eyes meet and they share a nod as though to agree that some unspoken debt has been paid.

Then Ellie snaps her head to look at Tony. There's an untold confidence in her stance, so Tony stands up just a bit straighter.

"Detective DiNozzo?" she asks.

"That's me. Bishop, I take it?" When he extends his hand, she doesn't shake it. He just ends up crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels.

"It's nice to put a face to a name." Her eyes glance back to Tim. "Tell Fielding that I'm glad everything worked out and that her husband is okay."

Tony nods. "I will."

"Now, like we discussed on the phone. Are you willing to transfer your case to the NSA?"

"On behalf of Metro PD, yes."

Her smile is barely there. "Thank you, detective." She turns back to Jake, who's already on his phone. "We'll have to head over to NCIS inform them next."

Jake nods. "I believe we're looking for Special Agent Gibbs, El."

"You'll find him right down there," Tony says, tilting his head to where Gibbs is watching the scene with rapt interest.

Ellie's smile broadens. "That makes our job easier." Then with her badge out, she heads down the hallway. "Special Agent Gibbs. Eleanor Bishop, NSA. I'm here to inform you that your case regarding Elijah Boress now falls under our jurisdiction."

Gibbs' eyes widen slightly. "Not a chance in hell. It's – "

At that moment, Delilah bursts out of Tim's room, nearly running Tony over with her wheelchair. "Tony! Tim's awake! Tony, _he's awake!_ He wants to talk to you! I need to go get Matty!"

She doesn't even break her wheelchair stride as she races to the waiting room, not bothering to stop for anyone in her way. Everyone in the hallway goes deadly silent. Ellie and Gibbs are about to launch into an interagency war, with Tony and Jake standing on the edge, praying that they don't get roped into it.

Not caring about how that fucking mess ends, Tony heads into Tim's room.

Lying weakly in the bed, Tim manages a tight smile at the sight of his friend. Tony crosses the room to take Delilah's place on the left side of the bed.

"Tony, you're here," Tim rasps, his voice hoarse and heavy.

"Hey Tim." Tony gets choked up all over again. "How are you feeling? Okay?"

Tim smiles lazily. "I'm starving and I feel like I could sleep until next year."

His eyes are still hazy, but there's a strange look in them that Tony can't quite place. Like he's holding back something important, something that he doesn't want to talk about.

In the doorway, Gibbs appears for a brief moment like he just needs a glance to prove that his former junior agent will pull through before he resumes ripping Ellie apart.

And then, just like that, he's gone.

Tim blinks owlishly. "Was that Gibbs?"

Tony nods. "He came to make sure you were alright, Tim."

"Ah," is all Tim can manage.

With his brow furrowing, Tony studies his friend. Out in the hallway, Gibbs' and Ellie's voices echo during their turf war. Tony hears Jake quietly begging them to discuss this like agents, like equals, _like fucking adults._ A second later, a voice comes over the loudspeaker calling for security.

"What is that all about?" Tim asks.

"Apparently, the guy who whacked our John Doe was a more important dirt bag then we thought. The NSA called dibs on our case and Gibbs isn't taking it well."

Tim half-smiles. "He never did."

Then for the first-time Tony can remember, an awkward silence settles between them. He stares at his friend, wondering what kind of horrors Tim must've seen if he can't relax in Tony's presence anymore. Tony rubs the back of his neck as he plops down in a chair.

Tim just stares at him, questioningly, curiously, and drugged out of his damned mind.

"What did they do to you, Tim?" Tony whispers.

"I don't really know, Tony." Tim licks his lips, shrugs. "I remember being at the park. Then when I woke up, my hands were tied behind my back and there was tape over my mouth. I think I was in someone's house. _It looked like a house_. They had a lot of toys there. Like they expected to take one of the kids instead of me." His eyes turn glassy and he drops his gaze to the red marks encircling his wrists.

"Yeah, we found the place you were held first."

Tim nods. "I saw their leader there…"

"Do you think you can work with a sketch artist?"

"I think so. I hope so." Looking away, Tim shrugs. "I'm not really sure. It's all a blur."

Tony leans forward in his chair. "What else happened?"

"The leader. He yelled at the guys who grabbed me. Said they should've brought one of the kids because I was worthless to them. They were going to kill me until one of them pointed out that you and I were friends." He swallows hard. "The leader said they were supposed to grab Riley..."

Tony's heart drops straight into his stomach. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Tim."

"I'm not," Tim says, shaking his head. "You know that I would take a bullet for Riley. Just like I know you'd take one for Matty."

Tony's head bobs as he gets choked up again.

_So this is what it feels like to be part of a real family._

Before Tim gets a chance to address it, Tony continues: "Did anything else happen?"

"I don't know," Tim admits, looking away. "They moved me sometime. I think it was this morning. Maybe. It must've been early because it was still dark outside. They blindfolded me and I have no idea where I ended up. It smelled like dirt and trees. Then later, musty. Like maybe, I was in a forest somewhere. Maybe I ended up in a cabin. I'm not really sure." He makes a face at himself. "All I know is that I talked to you and Delilah while I was there. It was nice to hear her voice."

Unsure what to say, Tony just nods.

"Then they offered me some water." Tim fiddles with the blanket. "I was so thirsty that I didn't even think. I figured they were being nice to me for the first time all day." His voice breaks when he twists the blanket around his fingers. "But after I drank it, I started to feel weird. Sleepy and dizzy. That's when I knew they drugged me. I can't believe I was so stupid."

Tony presses his lips together. "That probably saved your life, Tim."

He tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

Tony gives Tim a grim look.

"Just how much do you remember?" Tony asks.

"When I woke up, it was dark and you…" When their eyes meet, a chill glides down Tony's spine. "At least, I think _you_ were there."

Swallowing hard, Tony decides not to tell Tim about how they found him curled up in that trunk, near death. Let someone else share those gory details that Tony wishes he could forget.

"Tony, I think I remember something else too," Tim says, suddenly sobering up. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Tony steps forward. "Anything, Tim."

Tim stares at him strangely for a long moment before asking: "What exactly did you mean when you said 'at least you know I'm okay back home'?"


	35. Chapter 35

**2:10am – Reston Hospital Center – Reston, Va. – Emergency Department –**

Laughing nervously, Tony reaches to loosen a tie that isn't there. He rolls his tongue around his mouth, making a choked _Ah_ noise. All the while, he _feels_ Tim's earnest eyes boring into him, cautiously watching, patiently waiting for an answer.

"I don't remember what I said, Tim. I was...I was so…" Tony looks away, searching for the right words "…scared. I thought you were dead."

What little color had returned to Tim's face drains away. "Look, Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up. It's just that I thought I heard you say something strange."

"And it made you think that I'm some sort of interdimensional traveler visiting from another life." Tony quirks his trademark smile, trying to hide the fear rising in his throat. "Since I just happen to look exactly like your neighbor, I took over his life and no one even noticed."

Tim genuinely laughs. "It sounds crazy when you say it _like that_."

"You were drugged half out of your mind, Tim." Tony wills his heart to stop racing. "They gave you enough GHB to take down an elephant."

"Yeah, I know. I should've realized it was a hallucination." Shifting back against the bed, Tim clasps his hand to his head. "It just felt _so real_."

Tony nods carefully. "Because your brain probably thought it was."

Tim nods, seeming to accepting the explanation. "Yeah, Tony, I bet you're right."

"I usually am."

Before Tim has a chance to reply, there's a whoop from someone the doorway. Tony glances over just in time to see a red-shirted blur dart towards the bed. Scrambling to his feet, Tony gets the hell out of its way because he doesn't feel like being crushed by the Tasmanian Devil's younger cousin.

_"Matty!"_ Delilah yells.

Matty stops a few feet from the bed, obviously torn between launching himself onto his father and doing whatever he can to avoid his mother's wrath. His head whips back and forth between Tim and Delilah as though he just can't decide. When Tim holds his arms open, Matty abandons his duty to placate his mother. Matty leaps, going full-airborne for a few seconds, onto the bed. He lands on Tim, who lets out a little _oomph._

"Dad! Dad! You're back! You came home!" he yelps, tears rolling down his face. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy you came home!"

Tim gives Matty the biggest bear hug he can manage. "I am too, Matty. I never stopped thinking about you and your mom while I was gone. I missed you both so much."

Looking at his father, Matty nods resolutely. "I didn't give up either. Riley said I wasn't allowed to. So I didn't. Not because I wasn't allowed to, but because I didn't want to. I never gave up. I never gave…" His voice trails off, his breaths evening out as he passes out in his father's arms.

And Tony takes that as his cue to leave.

Even though Delilah asks him to stay, he can tell by the look in her eyes that the McGees could use the alone time. Shaking his head, he holds his hands up and backs out of the room. He should check on his family, he says. Maybe go home and let the girls get some sleep since everyone had a long day and they know Tim is going to be okay. He'll be back tomorrow to visit them tomorrow.

Tim and Delilah share a nod. Then they grip each other's hands as though they'll never, ever let go again.

Knowing that he's responsible for putting their world back together, Tony stands just a bit straighter. On his way out, Tony glances over his shoulder to meet Tim's gaze. Underneath the layer of gratitude, there is the undeniable acceptance that Tony is, in fact, the person he's pretending to be.

_Why wouldn't he believe me?_

A small part of Tony is thankful that Tim bought the lie hook, line and sinker. There's another, an even greater part, that feels disgusting for lying to his partner.

_Sometimes going undercover involves lying to those we care about the most. Speaking of…_

When he arrives in the waiting room, he is surprised to find it nearly empty. Only a few people are sprinkled throughout the uncomfortable, blood-red waiting room chairs like they were dropped in their places at random. Their faces are drawn, staring out into the great unknown.

His family is in the far corner, smack dab between the vending machines and the bathrooms.

As he draws closer, a smile pulls at his lips.

Propped with her head against the wall, Zoe sits with Phoebe passed out on her shoulder. Riley kneels on the dirty floor, actively playing with two dolls. Even though her eyes are closed, Zoe occasionally murmurs, _Riley, don't touch that_ through her unmoving lips. Ignoring her mother, Riley continues to make Barbie Mirandize Ken.

He stoops down to join her. She looks up at him with heavy, red-rimmed eyes. Tony can't miss the anguish and soul-crushing grief in her gaze.

"Hey Rookie," he says carefully, "what are you doing?"

She gives Ken a good shake. "This dirt bag won't stop stealing Barbie's shoes. So I'm going to lock him up and throw away the key. For life."

He nods. "That makes perfect sense, if you're an overzealous prosecutor. A burglary charge will only get him 5-10 and that's if he was being really nasty when he stole those shoes."

"Well, it's not fair. He keeps taking one shoe, so all Barbie has is a closet full of mismatched shoes. Mom made me throw away all the ones that didn't have mates. Now Barbie only has one pair of good shoes."

Smiling, he points to his sneakers. "That's all you really need."

"They're hot pink high heels." Riley's face pinches in disgust. _"They don't match anything."_

Joining her on the floor, Tony watches her as she gives Ken another frustrated shake. Her tiny hands shake in anger as she tries not to look at Tony.

"Riley," he whispers. "Is something else bothering you?"

With her dark eyes burning, she stares directly at him. The expression on her face is tirade of confusion and anger and uncertainty.

"It's not fair," she says simply.

Tony tilts his head. "Ken and the shoes?"

"No, that's not it at all. Matty gets his dad back, but I don't. _It's not fair._ " When Tony shoots Zoe a panicked glance, Riley shakes her head. "Mom's been asleep for a while. She still doesn't know. I didn't tell her. I promised I wouldn't. And my dad says we have to keep our promises."

Tony breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Riley's shoulders hitch. "Why don't I get my dad back too?"

"I….I don't know." He looks away, hangs his head. "I'm sorry I don't know how to fix everything…"

"That's not what I meant," Riley blurts out, grabbing Tony's shoulder. "You made Matty so happy by bringing Mr. McGee back. You did a good job. I'm proud of you. My dad would be too. It's just that…" Her voice cracks and her eyes well with tears when she admits: " _I miss him."_

"I'm trying to bring him back. I just don't know how yet."

"I know. I know," she wails, lower lip quivering.

Before he has a chance to speak, she bursts into tears. When she collapses into him, she buries her face in his chest. Her tiny body quakes with sobs and Tony does the only thing that feels right. He pulls her into the tightest hug he has ever given anyone. It only makes her cry harder.

He holds her until she cries herself out, until she starts to let herself fall asleep. He stays there, on the floor with his arms wrapped around a child that will never be his. No matter how much he wants it.

At seeing how much his presence is destroying Riley, he decides it's time to get the hell out of here, to get back to his life as a confirmed bachelor. With his fish and his apartment and his booze _and his job._ But he will let himself have this moment—where he pretends to be a father and a husband and everything that he is not—for just a little while longer.

He plays the charade until Zoe wakes herself up with a snore. She is instantly on edge, eyes darting around the waiting room for unknown threats. As soon as she notices Tony, she relaxes.

"Hey you." She smiles tiredly. "How is Tim?"

"Hi Keates. The doctors say he'll be fine." He nods awkwardly. "How are you?"

She checks on her children, then says: "I'm doing better now. I'm glad everything's over and that you're okay. That we're okay."

He smiles the best he can. "Me too."

"Nice work today, Spider. It's good to know you're still the same crack investigator that I married." Her grin is in full-bloom. "Even after two kids and ten years of marriage."

Her statement hits him harder than a kick to the gut. It draws the air from his lungs, nearly suffocating him. He presses his lips together, nods mechanically. None of these words, none of these moments were ever meant for him. They're meant for a man who, well, who the fuck knows where he ended up.

"Are you okay, Tony?" she asks suddenly. "You look really pale all of a sudden."

"I'm fine. Just tired. I'm ready to go home," he says, meaning it in more ways than one.

Thankfully, she doesn't catch the double meaning. Nodding, she stands up and readjusts Phoebe so she can pick her diaper bag and purse off the adjacent seat.

Tony struggles to his feet, careful not to wake the still sleeping Riley in his arms. Barbie and Ken are clutched between their chests and he realizes that Riley put them there to keep something between the two of them. His heart sinks.

_I really overstayed my welcome…didn't I?_

After Tony and Zoe share a small kiss, she leads the way out to the car. The air is still boiling, so hot that not even the bugs think it's worthwhile to come out for the night. Somehow since he saved Tim, the moon dipped even closer to the earth as though it might be hurdling on a collision course to crush them.

That little red sportscar Zoe used to drive all over Philly is parked a few feet from the hospital entrance. He helps get Riley and Phoebe secured into their booster seats. Neither girl wakes as he kisses them and whispers a quiet goodbye. He tries to memorize the angles of their faces, the feel of their skin under his fingertips, the scent of their hair. He wants to remember every piece of his children.

_The children I wish I'd been lucky enough to have._

Then Zoe heads to the driver's side. Tony hangs back, trying to savor the last look at his family.

"Aren't you coming?" Zoe asks.

Tony runs his sneaker along the asphalt. "I'm going to go get the van. It's back at the station."

Rolling her eyes, she laughs. "Why don't you just get it tomorrow?"

"It'll be easier to get it now. Plus, I need to check in with Sparr. I hear IA is gunning for us. So I might as well head that off at the pass." Tears sting his eyes. "I'll be home soon."

With a simple nod, she comes over to him. She starts to give him a small peck, but he kisses her back with a passionate fury that he's never felt before, as though it's the last one they'll ever share.

Pulling away, she peers at him curiously. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," he says, nodding. The _But I am,_ goes unspoken.

"I'll see you at home," she says, heading to the car and waving.

He nods. "Yeah."

And as she gets into that little red sportscar, a pit forms deep in his stomach. She gives him an enthusiastic wave before putting it in gear and heading out of the parking lot. As her taillights disappear down the street, he can't help but watch them. Long after they've gone.

_I'll never see them again._

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:01am – Somewhere in Downtown Reston, Va. –**

In the middle of the night, it takes Tony forever to find a cab. The corporate buildings are all dark, soulless blocks of concrete abandoned for the night while their workers go home. Home, to their families. Standing alone on the street corner, Tony feels like the last man on earth. And for someone who's about to leave his family behind, he might as well be.

He runs his foot along the curb, stares up at the light-pollution filled sky. If he could, he would wish upon a star. Beg some ball of gas and dust—and whatever the hell else Matty says they're made of—to let him stay here for just a little bit longer.

But he knows he can't.

Over the course of three days, he watched his mere presence unravel Riley from a confident, carefree child to a confused, anxious mini-adult. Tony remembers exactly what that felt like, went through the exact same thing at the ripe old age of 9 when his dad dropped him off at his first boarding school.

He rubs the back of his neck, swallows hard.

_She's way too young to lose her innocence like I did._

He'll do whatever he can to save it. Even if it means leaving behind a world that could've become his home.

When a cab finally makes its way down the empty street, Tony almost doesn't flag it down, almost lets it head right on by. But at the last possible second, he raises his hand. Numbly he, watches the vehicle pull up against the sidewalk, ready to whisk him away from here.

Without even looking at the driver, he slips into the backseat and relays the police station's address. On the way, he watches the world pass him by. All empty roads and closed-up buildings. There really is nothing left for him here.

The cabbie drops him off in front of the station. Tony gives him the last of the money in his wallet. It's a huge tip for someone who probably didn't have a decent fare all night. The cabbie says how thankful he is over and over again. Tony figures it's probably the last good thing he'll do in this world.

Hoping he doesn't run into any officers, Tony heads straight for the garage. The van is right where he left it, a few spaces away from Tim's Audi. Even now, Tony is right by Tim's side.

Tony can't help but smile as he runs his fingers over the dented bumper and peeling paint of his car. While it's _so_ not something he would ever drive, he would love to hear the stories about every mark. Because it's a part of his life here, a part of a life where he got to be a husband and father.

He pops the trunk to dig through his alternate self's hoarder stash. Underneath the extra diapers and baseball gloves and unused gym clothes, he finds the noisemaker that's supposed to be his ticket home. He turns it over in his hand, feeling the smooth plastic and cheap metal. How something that looks like a dollar store toy could be a gateway between worlds is beyond him.

With a heavy heart, he spins it. He expects the whirling noise, but nothing comes. The silence cuts through him like a gunshot, fills the garage around him, threatens to deafen him.

And of course, nothing happens.

He blinks several times, tries the noisemaker again. Still silence.

He even taps his heels together, whispering, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. _There. Is. No. Fucking. Place. Like. Home."_

And still, nothing _fucking_ happens.

"Come the fuck on!" he yells, chucking the noisemaker against the wall.

It explodes into a million pieces, sending what he swears might be pink glitter raining all over the place.

He scoops them up, but the damage is already done. The noisemaker is completely destroyed.

He is still in the garage, next to his piece of shit van, wearing his wedding band and sneakers and jeans. Part of him is relieved, happy. But another knows that he doesn't belong here…that he shouldn't be parading around in someone else's life like it belongs to him. It's that part that spurs him into the van and makes him burn rubber to NCIS.

He parks the van right out front.

Inside, the lights are set to daytime levels. And it feels exactly like it always did. Comfortable. Hospitable. Like coming home after a long day of work in the field.

There's only one guard working the security desk.

Terrence, that ragtag guardian angel, looks up from his paperwork and grins. _He fucking grins._

"Detective DiNozzo," he says brightly. "I didn't think we'd see you again so soon."

Without speaking, Tony walks up to the desk to place the remains of the noisemaker on it. Terrence's brow furrows as his eyes flick between Tony and the remains of the noisemaker.

"It doesn't work," Tony says flatly.

Terrence makes a face. "Yes, it does."

"Then why in the hell am I still here?" Before Terrence can speak, Tony continues: "I did everything I was supposed to. I worked my case. I did my job. I pretended to be this universe's Tony DiNozzo. I lied to Zoe. My… _his wife._ I lied to his kids."

"Is that why you think you were here? To learn how to lie?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." Tony makes a face, throws his hands up. "I don't fucking know anymore."

Rising from his seat, Terrence holds Tony's gaze. They remain impassive, both waiting for the other to crack. And well, here, Terrence has the upper hand because he knows what the hell is going on.

"I saved Tim," Tony says as though it might convince Terrence to send him home.

Terrence nods carefully. "Your desire to save your friend is why you were given the glimpse in the first place. When you pushed him out of the way of that car, you changed the course of your world."

Tilting his head, Tony stares at Terrence strangely. "I don't understand."

"Your friend was meant to die that day, not you."

A cold sweat breaks out on Tony's back, snaking its way down his spine. His heart races, thumping away against his sternum. His stomach churns as the thought of his friend dying.

"Wait a fucking minute, Tim was supposed to die? What in the hell does – "

Terrence holds up a finger, silencing him. " _Was_ supposed to. Because of you, he didn't. So the universe rewarded you with a glimpse while it catches up with the changes." He waves his hands theatrically." A chance to see another version of your life, to see who you could've been, to learn something about yourself that you never would have."

Pressing his hand to his forehead, Tony takes a step back.

So he ended up in this parallel universe because Tim was meant to die. Tim was meant to die, but he didn't. He lived, thanks to Tony. And because of that, Tony ended up in this mixed, topsy-turvy world. Tony's brain starts on an endless loop going around and around in _fucking circles_ until he reaches the only conclusion to make any sense.

"Fuck me, I'm dead?" Tony whispers, more question than statement.

"Not at all." Terrence shakes his head. "You're here to learn a lesson."

Tony rubs the back of his neck, grasps at straws. "Gibbs offered me a job and you know what, I turned it down. Is that what the universe is trying to teach me? That I don't need Gibbs?"

Terrence half-smiles like Tony might be on to something. "Perhaps."

"Then why am I still here?" Tony asks, gesturing to the broken noisemaker.

"Because you're still the same person you were when you arrived. Nothing has changed. Not one single thing. So far, you've learned nothing," Terrence says flatly.

Tony waits for a hint, an idea, something more, but there isn't any more.

He glares at Terrence. "You know you're a crappy guardian angel, right?"

Terrence genuinely laughs. "I've heard that before."

They stand in silence for a long moment before Tony breaks the silence. "Now what?"

"Live your life. Be with your family." He quirks a strange grin. "Learn the lesson you're meant to."

Terrence sweeps the parts of the noisemakers into a drawer, closes it. When he reopens it, the noisemaker is whole again. He holds it out to Tony with a certain reverence, but Tony refuses to take it. So he places it on the counter.

"You don't decide when you're done with a glimpse," Terrence replies, shrugging as he turns back to his work. "It decides when it's done with you."


	36. Chapter 36

**8:56am - Metro Police Station – Washington, DC – Judiciary Square Neighborhood –**

With his head held high and ready to answer for his indiscretions, Tony walks straight into the police station. He doesn't even make it to his desk before an older officer in dress blues with a greying buzz cut stops him. The officer's ice blue eyes are no-nonsense and hyperfocused.

Tony flinches.

"Hartigan, IA," the officer says.

Tony half-nods. "Should I bring my gun and my badge?"

"At the present time, that won't be necessary."

Even though Tony lags behind Hartigan, there is no missing how the other officers pop up from their desks like curious prairie dogs. Rapt interest mixed with regret commands their faces. After working with Gibbs for so long, Tony is more accustomed to the IA walk of shame than he would like to be.

The IA interrogation room—actually, what Hartigan refers to it as the 'conversational office'—is a lot like the one at NCIS. It's a comfortable room with a big wooden desk, two plush leather armchairs, and pictures of forces past. There's just enough authority to make a guilty cop sweat and put an innocent one at ease.

Hartiagn settles into one of the armchairs, gestures for Tony to take the other. After a sigh of relief, Tony joins him. If Hartigan had sat down behind the desk, Tony would know that he and Sparr were toast.

After notifying Tony that conversation will be taped, Hartigan hits a button on a recording device. As soon as it starts up, Hartigan's gaze thaws into one of concern. The questions flow effortlessly, straightforwardly and for once, Tony falls into what turns out to be an easy conversation with an IA officer. Hartigan asks him about Tim and the jump drives and NCIS' involvement with the whole mess. And for once, Tony doesn't feel the need to omit anything.

When they're done, Hartigan offers Tony a firm handshake.

Feeling like he just dodged a bullet, Tony starts to leave.

"Detective? Just one more thing," Hartigan calls.

Tony turns back. "Yes, sir?"

Hartigan's brow furrows. "Who had the idea to go rogue?"

Without a hint of hesitation, Tony says: "I did, sir."

"Ah." He makes a note on his pad. "Please stay outside, Detective. I'm going to speak with your partner next, then make my recommendations to the Chief. He wants to meet with you after I'm done."

Tony nods. "Yes sir."

As soon as he opens the door t, he finds Sparr in the hallway. Her hair is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail with fly-aways everywhere. She wears a tight-fitting T-shirt and what might be her only pair of jeans. Her apprehensive eyes meet his. He shakes his head.

"Don't worry, Sparr. It wasn't bad," he whispers.

With an unconvinced nod, she ducks into the room and closes the door.

Tony spends her interview leaned up against the wall, playing on his phone, watching the rookies walk past on their way to the squad room. When none of them glance at him, he feels a lot like that kid who spent way too much time in the principal's office.

Not quite thirty minutes later, Sparr returns to the hallway. Her face is drawn, nervous. It draws a pit to his stomach, terrifies him more than he ever expected. Tony wants to ask her what the hell happened in there, what he told Hartigan that he didn't, but he doesn't dare breathe a word.

They stand in the hallway, side by side. Deadly silent.

When he slips out of the interrogation room, Hartigan doesn't look at either of them. He walks purposefully to the chief's office and then, disappears.

Moments later, the chief's secretary comes for them. On auto-pilot, Tony follows the secretary while Sparr moves robotically forward like she's the only one on the chopping block. Once they're inside the office, the secretary wishes them luck.

Chief Ira Blumenthal is a large man with hulking shoulders and a gleaming bald head. Sitting behind his desk, he looks as though it took a shoehorn and way too much time to squeeze himself into his too-small suit. When he stretches for some papers, Tony expects his jacket to shred like the Incredible Hulk's clothes.

Blumenthal gestures to his open chairs, but neither Sparr nor Tony move. If they're facing the firing squad, they'll stand shoulder to shoulder as partners, as equals.

Chief Blumenthal looks them over. "I have to go on the record by saying that I am disappointed in you both for not following proper protocol and interagency cooperation guidelines." He points to Sparr. "You for bullying those rookies into working your case on their off-time." His accusing finger gravitates towards Tony. "And you for handing the case over to the NSA without at least notifying me."

Tony grits his teeth. "You've got to be kid – "

"Let me finish, Detective." Blumenthal holds his finger up. "That's on the record. Off the record, I will say I am impressed by your work and determination to rescue Tim McGee. Your dedication and valor are duly noted. I appreciate you putting not just your careers, but your lives on the line for one of our own. The force needs more cops like you."

Puffing her chest out, Sparr stands up a bit straighter. "Thank you, sir."

He smiles to reveal teeth ground almost to nubs. "Don't thank me yet, Detective. I'm suspending you both for eight weeks for misappropriation of resources. Effectively immediately."

Her face falls.

"But it is a good thing you both put in for eight weeks of vacation last week, huh?" His smile turns almost conspiratorial as he glances at the papers in his hands. "You both have more than enough unused vacation to cover it. DiNozzo, you've got 12 weeks. Sparr, you've got 20. What the heck?"

She fiddles with the engagement ring on the chain around her neck. "I haven't taken one since Mark…"

Nodding, Blumenthal decides it best to move on. "DiNozzo, go spend some time with that family of yours. Sparr…" he makes a face "…whatever you're going to do, keep me updated. Don't go rogue again, okay?" She nods. "Good. I'll see you both back here in October. Not a day before."

"Yes, sir," they unison.

Before Blumenthal has a chance to change his mind and fire them, Tony and Sparr get out of his office. They race to the parking garage to get the hell out of the building.

Tony has his key in the van's lock when Sparr calls: "DiNozzo?"

He turns back. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry that you got suspended." She presses her lips together. "I told that bastard from IA that it was my idea to go to the meeting. And you tagged along to have my back."

He chuckles. "I told him the same thing."

"Of course, you would." Rolling her eyes, she runs her hand over her ponytail. "What are you going to do with your -" she uses air quotes " –'vacation'?"

"Spend some time with the family. Maybe take a real vacation." He studies her for a long beat. "You're going to work with the NSA on the Borres case, aren't you?"

"Now, I won't have to worry about trying to keep up with our regular cases." She laughs. "I was already there all night and Bishop texted me twice since I left two hours ago. That woman is G-damned slave driver." Her smile says that she likes everything about it.

Grinning, Tony thinks that sounds nothing like Ellie. "Keep me in the loop?"

"Damn straight. See you in eight weeks, partner."

When she holds out her hand for a shake, Tony gives her a quick one-armed—and quite manly, for both of them—hug. Because, after Tim, she is one of the best partners that he has ever had. Because well, just in case.

She pulls away first. "See you around, Big D."

Tony half-smiles. "I'll see you later, Sparr."

He slips into the van to head home. He should be upset, embarrassed, slinking home to lick his wounds.

Instead, his heart is full, almost bursting with excitement and enthusiasm. Even though he is technically suspended, the case was nearly a success—and of course, Sparr will see it through the bitter end. Not to mention, they impressed their higher-ups. On the record, they fucked up. Big time. Off the record, they were hailed as heroes.

He is more than halfway home before he realizes he can't remember the last time he felt like this.

Like his boss and his agency was watching out for him.

Like someone other than his partner truly had his six.

Without having to worry about his job and cases, Tony falls into an easy routine with his family. For the first time since he got here, he lets himself go, lets himself become the man he was pretending to be. Instead of playing a husband and father, he tries to be one. None of it, he quickly learns, is easy.

In the dog days of summer, he spends his suspension taking Riley to the community park while Phoebe and Zoe and Goliath hide at home in the air conditioning. Nearly every day, the walls Riley built around herself and her heart fall a little bit more.

She seems to notice that Tony is trying and so, she does too. Just a little bit.

And for Tony, that's all he can ask.

Tony gets up early to head to the park and spread clues all over the soccer fields and the playground and the parking lot. After breakfast, they work the imaginary cases together. Sometimes, Matty tags along—Tim has a hard time leaving the house with Borres still at large—and he plays Robin to Riley's Batman while Tony trails behind them, continually reminding them about protocol. Riley just rolls her eyes and grins, saying, "I know, _Dad." S_ he works doggedly in the summer sun, dragging a sweaty and exhausted-looking Matty around by the arm, until they close the case. Then Tony takes them out for ice cream.

That day, she looks over her chocolate-marshmallow-banana ice cream cone at him. She hazards a glance at Matty, who's far too interested in his vanilla sundae to even notice them.

Turning towards him, Riley earnestly holds his gaze. "My dad always said he was going to teach me how to run my own investigations, but he was usually busy. I bet he would do exactly what you did. As soon as he didn't have a case."

"I'm sure your dad would too," Tony says.

When she grins, the ice cream spreads all over her face. "Thanks for teaching me."

He nods. "And you're welcome."

In that moment, he vows to be the best father he can with what time he has here.

_oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Suspension Week 3, Day 2 – 10:32am –**

Rain beats against the windows, its staccato echoing through the house. Since the weather is too miserable to hunt dirt bags in the park, Tony calls for a quiet day at home. At first, Riley pouts, but eventually, she settles onto the couch and zones out to catch up on her favorite cartoon. They've spent so much time working in the park, she grouses with a little smile, that she missed all the new episodes.

Zoe is the back of the house, doing laundry or cleaning or _something_ domestic. When he asked if she needed help, she shook her head and said, "Go spend time with the girls."

And so he does.

He lays on the floor, watching Phoebe try to shove her whole foot into her mouth. She rolls this way and that while failing miserably. Laughing, he rubs his hand over her hair, traces his way down her cheek.

Suddenly, she abandons her foot and latches onto his finger for dear life. Their eyes meet, her widening with that big, baby smile takes over her face. Tony has never seen such unbridled joy before.

"Da…da," she babbles.

Tony rolls to his side. "Oh yeah, Probie? Do you have something to say to me?"

"Da! Da! Da!" Her grin broadens, showing off that lone tooth breaking through her gums as she reaches for him. "Dadadadadada! Dada!"

He sits up, then scoops her off the floor. Once she's in his arms, she presses a soft hand to his face and looks deeply into his eyes.

"Dada," she murmurs like it means everything to her.

And for the first time, he feels the same elation that is rampant on Phoebe's face.

_oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Sometime near the crack of dawn on a day of Week 4, Tony gets a text: _We finally nailed that bastard, Big D. Elijah Borres is in NSA custody with Metro getting the assist. If it weren't for Tim's ID, we probably never would've found him. Tell him we said thanks. By the way, Bishop says you owe her a pizza._

He asks, just because he has to: _Should I notify NCIS about the arrest? And tell Bishop, I'll send her some Skittles. Green ones._

Sparr's reply comes quickly: _In case you're wondering about that Navy bastard, he was there. Bishop let him take the collar on Boress for Jackson Mulroney's murder. But the NSA gets first crack at him for everything else, including Tim's case. Bish'll be upset about the candy. Alright, Big D, gotta go. There's still more work to do. See you…eventually._

Since he knows she's already gone, he doesn't bother to text her back.

Sparr is too far engrossed in her case to come up for air these days. Every text he sends her goes unanswered or he gets a short reply. He knows that she throws herself into her work to forget, as a way to move on. When he gets back to the station, he knows she'll be giving their partnership her all.

He gives her the space she needs.

_oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Suspension Week 4, Day 3 – 11:10am –**

Even though the local news station predicted that hell would be cooler than DC today, Tony still gets ready to take Riley to the park like he promised. He was already there earlier, carefully hiding candy wrappers and a chocolate bar and a bunch of Barbie shoes amongst the blades of grass in the baseball field. Their case today involves a chocolatier with a shoe fetish.

Riley stands in the driveway, grinning like a madwoman. She hops from one foot to the other, somehow keeping up her normal energy despite the blistering heat.

"Do you think I'll solve this one?" she asks brightly.

"You always do," Tony says, smiling.

They're just at the edge of the driveway when Tony glances towards the McGee's house. Tim's Audi has been parked in the same place since Tony brought it back from the station.

Ever since his rescue, Tim just hasn't been himself. The DiNozzos and the McGees still meet for dinner a few times a week, but his friend is always drawn and tired and quiet. Every time Tony asks how he is, Tim just forces a brave smile and says, _Fine, Tony, everything is fine._ Even Delilah tries to pretend like everything isn't unraveling before her very eyes, but she is as good a liar as Tim.

"Hey Rookie, do you think we should bring Matty?" Tony asks.

She nods enthusiastically. "I could use someone with his expertise."

He tilts his head. "Oh yeah. What's that?"

"Candy," she says simply.

When she tears off towards the porch, his brow furrows. He glances down, finds a bit of chocolate smeared on the front of his T-shirt from setting up his case. Laughing to himself, he tries to wipe it away, but it only smears deeper into his shirt.

Eventually, he gives up and joins Riley on the McGee's porch. The front door is already open and Matty is sitting on the floor, fighting with his sneakers. Looking up at Riley, he listens to her tell him about their newest case. Excitement takes over his face. At the sight of Tony, Matty snaps out of his stupor.

"Heya Mr. D," he says, grinning gap-toothedly. "Riley said we've got another case."

"You bet." Tony nods. "Say, Matty, where's your dad?"

Flinching, Matty's eyes skirt away from Tony. For some reason, the little boy's cheeks flush.

"In the living room," Matty whispers as his face falls. "But it's best to leave him be. Mom says he needs to think so he can feel better."

"I'll just be a minute."

When Tony steps into the house, Matty darts right in the way. He holds his arms out, trying to block Tony's path.

Taken aback, Tony has no idea how to respond. Thankfully, he doesn't have to. Riley grabs Matty's arm, promises to show him Goliath's newest trick—eating treats out of the dirt. Then, she drags him outside. Over her shoulder, she throws Tony a meaningful stare and he nods his thanks.

Since the layout of Tim's house is identical to his own, Tony takes a hard left into the living room. The décor is not what he pictured. At all. The living room looks one part museum, two parts antique store with a dash of vintage charm for good measure. Worn dark leather sofas with mahogany accessories take up most of the available space. Against the far wall, there is a writing desk with the same old typewriter Tim used to write those stupid novels— _I am so not Agent Tommy—_ back home.

Tim, with his back to Tony, sits at the desk. His shoulders are tense, his back rigid. There is an empty page in the typewriter, but he makes no motion to use it. Suddenly, he howls and rips out the page. He balls it up in his fists and adds it to the pile beside his feet.

"What happened? Didn't like what you didn't write?" Tony asks, reaching for humor.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Tim whirls around. His red-rimmed eyes are wide, his hair mussed like he just rolled out of bed. And based on what look like pajamas, Tony surmises he just might have.

_Shit, McGee, you're falling apart. Why didn't you tell me?_

But at the sight of Tony, Tim relaxes considerably.

Tony gives a little wave. "Hey."

"Hi," Tim says flatly.

For some reason, Tony loses his voice. He stands stock-still, staring at the tired and exasperated shell of his friend. Tim studies the floor, absently drumming his fingers on his desk.

"Boress was arrested last night. Sparr texted me earlier," Tony says. "She said you were a big help. That the NSA couldn't have done it without you."

"Good. Great. That's just great." Tim looks up, then nods mechanically. "I'm glad to hear it."

Tony moves closer. "How are you holding up, Tim?"

Licking his lips, Tim rubs the back of his neck. He leans forward to press his elbows against his knees as he presses his hands to his face. It is still hidden when he shakes his head. Tony crosses the room, to put his hand on Tim's shoulder. Under Tony's touch, Tim pulls a hitched breath.

"Have you gone to counseling yet?" he asks.

Tim shakes his head again. "I should be able to…" His body quakes again.

When Tony crouches down, Tim peers from behind his hands.

"There is no shame in asking for help, Tim," Tony says carefully.

"I've done it on my own before, Tony. I should be to get through this on my own." Tim's eyes go wide. "Why can't I get through it on my own?"

Tony tilts his head to hold his friend's gaze. "Didn't you freak out and transfer departments last time?"

"Yeah. Field agent to Cybercrimes." Tim half-smiles. "Then you persuaded me to interview for the opening in the forensics department at Metro."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Tony says, chuckling. "You run the computer department now. Are you really up for another career change?"

Pressing his lips together, Tim shakes his head. "Not really."

"Then I guess it's time to get your head shrunk, huh?"

When Tim doesn't reply, Tony struggles to keep his face as impassive. Something about his friend's reaction makes him uneasy. Maybe it's the way Tim wrings his hands. Or the way his left leg bounces at an insane rhythm. Tim seems ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Forcing him into the car to take him to therapy might just send him straight over the edge.

_Maybe it's time to try a different tactic._

"If you don't want to try counseling, Tim," Tony says, "then pack your bags. We need to get you the hell out of this house."

Confused, Tim blinks. "What?"

"Remember I promised you a vacation to Disney World. Go get Matty and Delilah, Tim!" Barely able to contain himself, Tony grins. "The McGees and the DiNozzos are going on their first official road trip!"

_oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

The following day, Tony manages to cram the McGees, the DiNozzos, everyone's bags, and Delilah's wheelchair into the van…even if it takes one of those car storage containers on his roof to make it happen. It takes two full days of driving to get there, but in the end, it is worth it.

They are at the park every day from the time it opens to when it closes. Zoe and Delilah enjoy their time by wandering around the countries in Epcot. Phoebe screams every time she sees Mickey Mouse. Somehow, Matty learns the intricate details about the magnetic system that powers the MonoRail and tells everyone about how it works every freaking time they ride it.

Whenever they see a princess, Riley announces she needs to use to the bathroom. Then she makes Tony take her to get the princess' autograph. Every time, he smiles and pinky-swears that he won't tell Matty about Riley's secret wish to meet Cinderella and Snow White.

Tim goes through the motions for a while. Then sometime on their last day, while they're waiting in line for Space Mountain and Matty is rambling about some type of star—a red dwarf or a yellow star or the Death Star—Tim finally lets himself go. He wraps his arm around his son and grins the brightest one Tony's ever seen.

At that moment, Tony knows Tim will be just fine.


	37. Chapter 37

**Suspension Week 6, Day 2 – 9:52pm –**

Long after the girls are in bed, Zoe comes to Tony. He is lying on the couch, half-asleep, half-watching a baseball game. The Orioles are playing the Pirates. At least, _he thinks._

Zoe plops down by his head. "Who's winning?"

"The Orioles." When he squints at the television, he notices the Pirates are _crushing_ the Orioles.

Thankfully, Zoe doesn't notice. Her only reply is a breathless, _Ah._

He glances up with half-lidded eyes. Her features are as tight as her muscles. Panic edges into his heart as he suspects she might've just figured out her secret. How will the _oh yeah, I'm an interdimensional traveler from a parallel universe who's pretending to be your husband_ go over?

_Because that doesn't sound like Twilight Zone at all._

_And what happens to me? Can I go to jail for impersonating myself?_

"Is everything okay, Keates?" he asks, knowing he sounds a little hysterical.

"I think I'm pregnant," Zoe blurts out.

Instantly, he is wide awake and on his feet. That was _so_ not what he expected her to say. His heart threatens to hammer out of his chest as he stands in front of her. While she stares in his direction, she seems to look right through him.

"What? _What_?" he manages.

"I just noticed that I'm three week late," she says simply.

While he has never heard the words before, it is enough to ignite the fire in the pit of his stomach. Panic burns through him white hot, adrenaline coursing through his veins, preparing to run for the hills.

Tony's cheeks pale. "How did – "

"Really? You know how it happened." When he stares at her blankly, she makes a face. "There were more than a few nights that you and I…" she licks her lips, searching for the right word "…enjoyed each other's company."

"Yeah, I know _that_. But…"

His knees suddenly feel like they're about to give way, so he sits down on the edge of the couch. He presses his hands against his face, stares at the television. His mind whirls at a thousand miles, unable to land on a coherent thought. It bounces from _How in the hell did I get Zoe get pregnant?_ to _I'm going to get to be a father!_ and back again.

"Spider?" She puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezes until he comes back to the moment. "Are you okay? I know we said no more kids after Phoebe, but you're acting the same way you did when we found out about Riley. Like you've never heard this news before..."

"I just didn't expect it. That's all." He lets out a strangled laugh. "Can we…" he searches for a plausible excuse for his near hysteria. "Can we afford another baby?"

Zoe half-shrugs. "We'd make do. Just like we did with Phoebe."

Tony nods like a broken wind-up toy.

"Do you mind running out to store to get a pregnancy test?" she asks, glancing down at her faded pink terry cloth shorts and spit-up stained T-shirt.

"Yeah," he says, still nodding. "Sure. Yeah, I'll be right back."

On auto-pilot, Tony points the van to the nearest all-night drug store. He ends up in the family planning aisle, staring blankly at the pregnancy tests. They all look the same, but they're all so different. Blue dye. Pink dye. One boasts finding out extra early, while another promises results in under a minute. He grabs a couple boxes at random, pays for them, and heads straight to the house.

As soon as he enters the house, he silently passes Zoe the boxes. She disappears into the bathroom.

And he is left alone with his thoughts.

He once heard someone say that your life can change in the blink of an eye. For Tony, it takes exactly ten minutes. Ten _long, agonizing_ minutes. He lives more than one lifetime during those minutes.

Closing his eyes, he pictures how Zoe would look over the months as her belly grows. He pictures himself feeling his child's kicks and reading movie scripts to them. He would start with _Casablanca_ because well, that always was his favorite.

_I'd love to see Riley's face when we tell her that she's getting another sibling. At least we let her keep Goliath. She got the puppy she always wanted and a bonus sister. Who knows? Maybe she'll get a little brother too. Or another sister._

He steeples his hands to his face, sighing.

_But I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here._

At that moment, it doesn't matter. However long he has, he wants it.

Days, weeks, months, or even minutes.

He wants to know what it _feels_ like to be a father.

_Aren't I already to Riley and Phoebe?_

And that's when Zoe heads back into the living room. Her body is relaxed and she wears a smile that takes over most of her face. Whooping, she pumps her fist.

_Oh my G-d, I'm going to be a –_

"It's negative! I'm not pregnant!" she says, her grin broadening.

Tony's heart drops straight into his stomach.

"Oh," he says disappointedly, sinking onto the couch. "Huh."

She is by his side, her brow furrowing. "What's wrong, Spider? I thought you'd be as happy as I am. I thought you wanted to be done after Phoebe."

"I did." Swallowing his disappointment, he flinches. "I do. Just when you said you were…it got me thinking. It might be nice to have another."

After squeezing his shoulder, she rests her head against it. "Phoebe is still just a baby. You work long hours. I'm alone with the girls a lot. Two is manageable, but three would be almost impossible. It might be easier if we just…"

He takes a hitched breath, nods.

"How about we talk about it in a couple of days?" She glances up at him, dark eyes burning. "If you still feel that strongly about it, we can try again when Phoebe gets a little older."

"I think that's fair," he says quietly.

She hugs him tightly as though she'll never let him go. He collapses against her, lets himself melt into her and for a moment, they are one. He pictures everything that he could've had if he hadn't packed up in the middle of that night in Philly and ran. If he hadn't just fucking run, he could have had all of this.

The wife.

The children.

_My girls. They could've been my girls._

His eyes find a picture of them on the wall. It's a Christmas one from a mall photographer with everyone in the formal wear with forced smiles in front of a fake, plastic tree. They all look stiff as statues and just as miserable. He smiles at the thought of just being there… _with them._

_In a way, they are my girls. In a way, they are my family._

He doesn't sleep that night. Just lies awake next to Zoe, staring at the ceiling. He counts sheep, counts heartbeats, but nothing helps. His mind whirls with what could have been and what will be.

He reminisces about his time with Riley and Phoebe, his relationship with Zoe, his friendship with Tim and Delilah, his partnership with Sparr.

He doesn't even think about Gibbs. Or the former team. Or NCIS.

And for the first time, he has no regrets about his life.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Suspension Week 6, Day 3 - 10:11am –**

Standing in front of the stove, Tony works on putting the finishing touches on a Mickey Mouse shaped pancake. Ever since they returned from Disney World, Riley has been obsessed with them. Now, he makes them on special occasions like weekends and Wednesdays and like today, when Matty joins them for breakfast.

As long as Phoebe doesn't see them, everything is right with the world. Since Zoe took her to WalMart to go shopping, they should be just fine.

"Hey Mr. D, can you make mine with chocolate chips?" Matty shouts. By the sound of it, he and Riley are playing in the garage.

"You got it, Matty McMatt!" Tony replies.

He flips the pancake over, careful to avoid crushing the ears like he always does. By now, he is pretty much an expert at Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes. He tried to make Minnie the other day, but the bow ended up looking like an extra set of ears. Riley ate it anyway with a laugh and a _Nice try._

Suddenly, he feels a set of arms latch around his waist. He glances back to find Riley hugging him as though she hasn't seen him in forever.

"Daddy, you're back," she whispers, barely able to contain her excitement.

When Tony turns around, her broad smile and eager eyes greet him. He crouches down and she grabs him with a death-like grip. The force of her embrace knocks him on his butt, but he just hugs her back.

"Dad, I can't believe you're back! You came back." She makes a face, schools her expression into a serious one. "I know you didn't leave. But I'm _so_ happy to see you."

His brow furrows, unsure how he will explain that he is still _him._ Not the man who fathered her. But Tony, just alternate-reality traveling Tony.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispers.

The only way he knows to respond is with "I love you too."

At that moment, Matty heads into the kitchen. "Hey Riley, look what I found in your dad's car. He's got some really cool stuff in there."

In his hands is the hot pink noisemaker that could send Tony home. Back to his old life.

The world hangs around him and if Tony could just move fast enough, he could snatch that damned noisemaker away from Matty.

But he isn't quick enough.

He doesn't even move more than a few feet before Matty whirls the noisemaker. This time, it works. When a rattling noise echoes from it, Tony gives Riley one last hug.

In the blink of an eye, the kitchen is gone.

Tony suddenly finds himself in a white room that stretches to infinity in every direction. He climbs to his feet, surprised to find a solid surface beneath them. He feels as though he floats with every step he takes. The air is cool and crisp, the freshest he has ever breathed. It looks a lot like every movie scene he has watched involving the afterlife.

"Fuck me," he whispers, " _I really am dead._ "

"I already told you that you aren't. You are very much alive," a voice says behind him.

Whirling around, Tony ends up face to face with Terrence. In his stark white suit, the ragtag—worthless, Tony decides instead—guardian angel carries a sense of authority. His dark hair is styled to perfection and a new soul patch claims the air below his bottom lip.

Tony manages to find his voice. "Where are we?"

"The in-between," Terrence says as though it explains everything.

"What does that even mean?"

"You are at the edge of your glimpse." When Tony doesn't reply, Terrence sighs. "The place you pass though before you return back to your old life."

Tony tilts his head. "What happens to Zoe and the girls?"

Terrence dodges the question. Instead, he says: "You learned your lesson, Tony."

"Oh yeah? And what was that?"

"That you have the capacity to love and be loved." Terrence looks at Tony meaningfully. "If you just let yourself. That you could be a good father, despite the lies you told yourself over the years."

"So you showed me a family that I can't have in order to teach me that?" Anger bubbles up inside Tony, finding the only target available in the space: Terrence. "What the fuck? You really are the universe's worst guardian angel."

"Not at all, Tony," Terrence says, devoid of any emotion. "You had to interact with the inhabitants – "

"My family," Tony interrupts.

Terrence sighs languidly. "Fine, you had to interact with _your family_ in order for you to become the man you are supposed to be. Not the one that Leroy Jethro Gibbs turned you into."

"So that's it? That's all it was?"

And with that, the guardian angel snaps his fingers.

There's a flash of white so bright that Tony thinks he might've gone blind.

Then a barking dog pulls him straight out of his damned mind. It takes a split second for his mind to catch up with his body.

_Where the hell am I?_

He stands on Jackson Mulroney's porch on that hot as hell Wednesday afternoon. The same one where Mulroney tried to turn him into roadkill. He is staring at his reflection in the grimy window.

_Christ, I'm home. I think. Did I leave? What the fuck is going on? What the…_

He swallows hard.

_Did I just get lost in a daydream?_

Another bark.

_I had a wife and two daughters. I was happy. It was so real._

"Suck it, cop!" Mulroney yells.

Tim is by Tony's side, cheeks pale and features tight. The first thing Tony notices is how much less his friend weighs here. Then, he notices the worry lines permanently etched into Tim's brow and around his eyes. Gone are the smile and laugh lines from the alternate world.

_I forgot just how little Tim smiles here._

_Here. There. The in-between…_

There's another bark and crazed laughter from inside the house.

"Tony," Tim says, "that's a Bull Mastiff."

_Now I know I've heard that before…_


	38. Chapter 38

**Wednesday, August 5, 2015 - 3:43pm – 3467 Atherton St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –**

Tony blinks owlishly, glancing back between Tim and the door. Mulroney is on the other side, laughing like a supervillain about to dip a captured superhero into a vat of acid. The dog continues barking as though it's about to break down the door and rip them limb from limb. With his muscles tight and anxious, Tim takes a careful step back.

Tony presses his hand to his head. A pounding kicks up behind his eyes, then ravages his brain like wildfire. And he is so tired. Why is _so fucking tired?_

For some strange reason, he thought he was somewhere else. Here, but not really _here_.

_That makes no fucking sense._

He was just lost in somewhere in his mind, in a world that was so similar to this one. With Zoe as his wife and his two girls, Riley and Phoebe. They were so _real_ —like living and breathing people—not like those dreams he used to have as a kid at military school. Those ones where his mother was still alive and his father was sober and they were a family again.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to pull himself back into the moment, begging his addled brain to just catch up and make some sense of everything.

_Was it real?_

He glances back at Tim.

_If it was, McGee is meant to get hit by a car in a few minutes._

"What the fuck is going on?" he whispers.

"It's a Bull Mastiff," Tim repeats, his face going stark white.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I dated a girl from Jethro's obedience class who had one." To Tony's horror, Tim's upper lip curls in disgust. "The dog used to bark like that at Jethro all the time."

Tony's mouth falls open. "You don't say."

"Yeah, the dog was saner than she was." Tim edges closer to the porch steps, his eyes skirting back towards the Charger. "Should we call for back-up?"

Tony already has his phone out, but he stops short. While they _should_ call for back-up and animal control and a fucking SWAT team, he pockets his phone. If he does, that will give Jackson Mulroney time to release that midget hellhound and get to his car.

And turn Tim into roadkill.

When Tony unholsters his gun, Tim looks over with wide, terrified eyes.

"Wha…what are you doing, Tony?" He puts his hand on Tony's upper arm. "You can't be serious. There's a dog in there. A big, mean, nasty one."

"With sharp, pointy teeth," Tony quips on reflex.

Tim stares back, dumbfounded.

"Haven't you seen _Monty Python and The Quest for The Holy Grail?"_ Tony shakes his head, stretching for normalcy to keep Tim from panicking. "And you call yourself a McNerd."

"That's what _you_ call me." Another bark, another step towards the steps. "But I don't think now is the time to be quoting movies, Tony."

"Then just stay out of the way," Tony orders.

"But – "

Tony holds his hand out. "Stand down, McGee."

With one fluid motion, Tony kicks down Mulroney's door. It splinters off the hinges, slamming against the wall behind it. Jackson Mulroney stands there, greasy-haired and beady-eyed. He doesn't even get a chance to blink before Tony tackles him. Within a few seconds, Mulroney's hands are cuffed behind his back. By his side is a cell phone with a picture of a vicious dog on the screen.

When the sound of a barking dog erupts again, Tim takes off like a shot. He flies down the steps, over the yard, moving faster than Tony thought was possible.

"McGee! Stop!" Tony yells. "It's just a recording!"

Not hearing him, Tim fumbles to get out the keys for the Charger. It takes one, two, _three_ tries with the remote lock before he dives into the driver's seat. He ducks down behind the door to shield himself from the dog coming to eat his flesh and gnaw on his bones.

Mulroney starts laughing again. "What a pussy."

"You have the right to remain silent, _asshole,"_ Tony says, hauling Mulroney to his feet. "I highly recommend you exercise that right."

They are half-way to the edge of the porch when Tony turns back.

He whistles loudly. "Hey Goliath! Come on, boy!"

Near the floor, a familiar face peers around the door. Goliath blinks as though he is seeing the sun for the first time. At the sight of Tony, the dog wags his tail frenetically. He gives a little woof before coming over to slobber all over Tony's pant leg.

"It's nice to see you too." Tony grins at the dachshund. "Let's get out of here."

Mulroney does a double-take. "How the fuck do you know my dog, fed?"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

After swearing on his Mighty Mouse stapler's staples that he won't tell Ellie how Tim ran away from a dachshund like his ass was on fire, they finally head back to NCIS. Tony sits in the passenger seat, watching the world slip past them. Goliath is curled up in his lap, snoring loudly.

Tony struggles to remember the tendrils of that daydream, where he lived the life of another man.

A husband. A father _. A better man._

The details fade quickly like when you wake up from a deep sleep, only to watch the dream evaporate as soon as you realize you're still in bed. But there are things, those seemingly inconsequential things, that will be forever written on his soul. The feel of Zoe's skin against his while they made love. The way Phoebe fit perfectly on his shoulder as she slept. The way Riley smiled. The way it felt to be a father.

There was a little boy too. Tim's son. Matty.

He and Riley used to play cops and robbers all the time. Of course, Matty was the robber who always got arrested while Tim and Tony kept a careful eye on them.

_I think I finally knew what it meant to be happy..._

He hazards a glance at Tim.

With his mouth set into a tight line, the junior agent stares at the road ahead determinedly. His brow is furrowed, hard and unwavering. While they aren't extremely close, they're friends enough for Tony to know there isn't as much joy in Tim's life here as there was _there._

Tim glances over, his frown deepening. "Is something on your mind, Tony?"

"Nothing at all, Tim." He half-smiles. "Nothing at all."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**4:34pm– NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC – Naval Yard – Bullpen –**

Sitting at his desk, Tony might as well be a stranger in his own life. There are no photos here, just text bulletins and wanted posters and his beloved Mighty Mouse stapler. Gone are the pictures of his girls and their adventures and that little gold plaque that read _Detective A. DiNozzo._ While he has been gone from the office less an hour, it feels more like months.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't…

Making a face to himself, he reaches for the Mulroney case file to refresh his memory on the case. For some reason, he keeps thinking Mulroney and someone else—Michael Perkins sticks in his head for some reason—should be dead. Trying to push it out of his mind, he reviews his _active_ case, but it's a lot like reading and having to put everything together after the fact.

He glances up to find Tim staring at him intently. When Tony catches him, the junior agent doesn't back down. Instead, he moves in for the kill like he needed Tony to be the one to bring it up.

"It's a good thing Goliath liked Abby, huh?" Tim smiles that anxious one he does when he's trying to make sense of a situation.

Tony half-nods. "Yeah."

They stare at each other in silence for a long time.

Tim is the first to break it. "Are you okay, Tony?"

"I'm fine, McGee," Tony replies, tightly.

There's a long pause where Tony can almost see the circuits in Tim's giant brain firing in overtime, trying to figure out exactly what the hell is going on. Tim bites his lip, wavering.

"You haven't really been yourself since we arrested Mulroney," he says, finally.

Tony shrugs. "It's nothing. I just hurt my leg kicking down that door."

"Yeah, I bet." Tim half-smiles and plays along. "Look, Tony, don't forget that I'm your friend. So if something's going on, you know can talk to me, right?"

"Of course," Tony says, flatly.

Tim can probably smell the blood. "Are you _sure_ everything's okay?"

Unsure how to respond, Tony lets Tim's question hang in the air, lets it fill the space between them, lets it drag them down into a chasm that's wide enough for them to drown in.

What _is_ he supposed to tell Tim?

That in the blink of an eye, he was somewhere else, in some other place in the same time. And that he lived— _he fucking lived—_ six full weeks in the span of a millisecond. That he and Tim had wives, kids and a hedge between their neighboring houses. They worked together, carpooled together, raised their kids together. They were close, _real_ friends in that parallel Twilight Zone. That it felt as real as anything he ever experienced before…hell, it _was_ as real as sitting here in the bullpen.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

_Should I just tell Tim that I'm caught up in the case? I bet he'd buy that._

Tony tests the waters. "Have you ever thought about having kids, Tim?"

Tim's expression softens in surprise. After giving it a moment's thought, he nods slightly. "Of course, I would love to. It's just a matter of the timing and being financially secure."

Tony doesn't fight the silence.

Tim speaks for them. "Are you thinking about that? _Now?"_

"I just had a thought. Maybe it would be nice to have a daughter." Tony just shrugs, but he can't hide how much there is behind it. "Or maybe even two…"

Tim laughs until he realizes how serious Tony is. Then the humor evaporates from his face when he sobers up to match Tony's mood. "I think you'd be a good dad, Tony."

Something about Tim's tone doesn't match the words. It breaks Tony's heart all over again.

Now, Tony understands just the kind of man he is here. A recovering alcoholic, bonafide workaholic. A man who spent most of his life running whenever things got a little too tough. A middle-aged bachelor who wished himself to be Peter Pan, but couldn't manage to outrun the years.

He is _nothing_ like the man his children love.

He presses his hand to his face. "Forget I said anything, McGee."

"Look, Tony, I didn't mean anything…"

Not listening to his friend try to save face, Tony turns back to his file. When he leans over his desk, something in his suit jacket digs into his ribs. He reaches into the inside pocket, finding hard and cold plastic there. When he pulls it out, the sight of Riley's bright orange cap gun stops him dead.

_It was real..._

Tony jumps to his feet, gasping with the cap gun in his hands.

Tim's head pops up. "Tony? What's that?"

"Nothing," Tony blurts out. "I need to go. I just need to – "

_I had a wife._

Tim stands too. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Everything is okay. It's – "

_I had two girls._

Tony's breathing tinges on the edge of hyperventilating. His heart pounds in his chest, kicking up that _whoosh whoosh_ in his ears again. His hands tremble as they hold onto the cap gun, but he just can't put it down, can't look away. He just need to get the fuck out of here before he loses it completely.

He takes a step towards the elevator.

"What's going on?" Tim asks, starting after him.

"You're in charge until I get back, McGee."

_I had a life._

When Tim grabs Tony's arm, he flinches like he's been electrocuted.

_And you did too, Tim._

It's too real, just too freaking real. Just like how Riley felt in his arms before he came back, how Zoe's lips felt against his, how Phoebe felt curled up on his shoulder.

_All of it was real…_

Tim's gaze turns wounded as he steps back.

"Can you handle the Mulroney investigation, Tim?" Tony asks, a little frenzied, a little crazed. "Can you do that? For me?"

Setting his jaw, Tim nods like a good senior agent, like a good second-in-command, like a damned good friend. He studies Tony as though he could learn all of his secrets in the blink of an eye. But when Tony won't surrender any of them, Tim finally nods his surrender. Then he clasps his hands on Tony's shoulder and looks him straight in the eye.

Tony doesn't wilt under the touch this time.

"I'll handle everything until you get back." Worry creeps into the edge of Tim's voice as it does on his face. "Just tell me what's going on, Tony. Tell him what you need me to do." He squeezes Tony's shoulders hard enough for it to hurt. " _Please, just tell me what's going on_."

Tony bites his lower lip. "I really wish I knew…"

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

After leaving the NCIS building, Tony wanders the streets of Washington like a lost ghost, still unsure where he fits into the world around him and still unsure how to move on. The longer he walks around the city, the more he feels like the undead. Forgotten and alone to wander the earth until the end of time. No one bothers to look at him and in turn, he doesn't bother with them either.

He feels as transparent as a pane of glass, but with nothing worth seeing on the other side.

He walks those lonely, familiar sidewalks until the sun dips behind the concrete horizon and the sky turns a delicate pink with the wisps of inky night streaking through it. The street lamps buzz on, drawing the moths out from their daytime respite to dance and twirl in the lingering summer heat. Despite his suit clinging to his sweaty body like a latex glove, Tony doesn't even feel it.

Dusk wraps itself around him, settling down for the night before he notices where he is. He stands on an old truss bridge, somewhere on the outskirts of Washington. What once was beautiful and strong slowly decayed as time stripped its paint away to expose the rusting rivets and weak links beneath. While Tony doesn't recognize it, the place feels oddly familiar.

_I've seen a film like this once._

He leans against the steel railing, not surprised to feel the warmth of the day still radiating back at him. His eyes survey the lonely horizon, the thick storm clouds parading through the darkening sky, the river that stretches all the way down to Virginia and then to, G-d only knows where. He watches the angry white sprays of the water rage against the grey rocks below. As time slips away, the water turns murky as the moon sneaks out to join him.

Tony wonders what his family is doing, right now. Without him. Wherever they are, he truly hopes they're happy and that him—the real him—found his way back.

What he wouldn't give to be there…

When a warm breeze rushes past, it lingers on his cheeks like a forgotten lover's kiss. He bristles, turning deeper into himself when he realizes he isn't alone anymore.

"Whatever you're thinking, _don't_ ," a familiar voice calls.

Tony half-laughs. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"

Instantly, Terrence appears by Tony's side. Not security guard Terrence, but the angel version with his white suit, perfect hair, and stupid, little soul patch. He glows a shimmering white like he is made from the moonlight and stars. His features are tight, confused almost.

"I don't, Tony," Terrence admits quietly, surveying the scene. "But this looks a lot like the scene of the movie that you enjoy watching at Christmas."

"Do you mean _It's a Wonderful Life?_ The one with the guardian angel who gives a shit?"

"Yeah, I do believe that is the one." Apparently, the insult is lost on Terrence. "I do not understand why you reacted the way you did when you arrived here. You learned what you were meant to – "

"You gave me a family. You let me know what it felt like to be loved. Then you took it away!" Unable to stop himself, Tony starts to break down. "For once in my life, I had a real family! And now, they're gone! Did you really expect me to just pick up like nothing ever happened?"

Terrence shrugs slightly. "No one is ever meant to live in a glimpse, Tony. It was meant to show you what could have been and to help you realize your true potential." He waits for a moment before he says: "You are meant for great things in life."

"Does any of it matter without them?"

"That I don't know."

Tony hugs his arms to his chest, chuckles humorlessly. "Can you, at least, tell me what happened to them? Are they happy? Do the girls grow up to – "

"They never existed," Terrence says, simply.

The words rip the whole world out from under Tony's feet.

Suddenly, he feels like he is adrift in the middle of the ocean with no hope of rescue, left to the fate of the open water. He is ready to let himself drown, but it would be far too merciful.

Bile bites the back of Tony's throat as his heart creeps up with it. He retches, but there isn't anything to bring up. His heart stays firmly planted in his throat, twisting and writhing until he can't take anymore. He collapses against the edge of the metal barricade, pressing his head against his hands. When he stops fighting the sobs, they overtake his body.

Somewhere far away, he hears Terrence's voice say: "You weren't meant to get attached to the inhabitants of your – "

_"They were my family!"_ Tony yells, his voice growing louder and more vitriolic with every breath. "They were people who loved me. People who _l_ loved! And you tell me that they don't exist. That they aren't _even real_! What kind of guardian angel are you?"

Terrence eyes him carefully like he can't understand why Tony unravels before his very eyes.

"Fuck you, Terrence!" Tony yells. "You don't deserve to get your fucking wings! You don't…"

Standing perfectly still, Terrence waits until Tony screams himself hoarse from the pain, until he is sitting on the sidewalk, panting in the summer heat. Terrence's expression shows that he never considered a reaction quite _like this._ But Tony doesn't give a shit about what Terrence expected or thought or anything right now. He presses his head against the metal behind his head, closes his eyes.

_I lost everything that mattered today._

He swallows hard, searching for calm.

_After all these years, I finally understand why Gibbs acts like he does._

The hints of a rueful smile dances across Tony's face. Of course, everything goes straight back to Gibbs as though his boss were the source of his life, not an adjunct. His entire existence is tied to the man far more than he ever wanted. And that's what he supposedly learned: that it was high time to break the fucking cycle and live for himself.

Opening his eyes, Tony stares up at Terrence's blank expression. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach churn. So instead, he looks out at the darkness and the empty street.

"I already have my wings," Terrence says flatly. "Clarence only had to earn them in that film. It was just a fictional representation of our purpose."

Tony laughs in spite of himself. "I'm glad you got the point."

"Did you truly love those…" Terrence wavers before settling on "…people?"

"More than anything," Tony says, without a moment's hesitation.

Terrence nods. "What about all the good you are meant to do here? The lives you have saved? That you will save? Do you not care about any of that?"

Conflicted, Tony presses his hands to his mouth. After what feels like a lifetime, he shrugs half-heartedly. "Of course, I do. But does it matter without people to share it with?"

A fleeting look crosses Terrence's face as though he never considered _that_ before he manages to school it away. Crossing his arms, he watches Tony like he struggles to figure out his next move, like this whole fucking mess is just an experiment that blew up in his face.

Tony shakes his head. _"_ You really are the _worst_ guardian angel."

"I won't pretend to understand how you feel," Terrence finally says. "To remain impartial, we aren't blessed with emotions. Therefore, I don't understand the attachment to the people in your glimpse. You were supposed to return ready for the next stage of your life here, not tied to the Transients."

"The whats?" Tony asks.

For a moment, Terrence's face turns uncertain. He preens his suit jacket in an attempt to buy time as though he can't decide how to proceed. Eventually, he takes a step closer to Tony. His expression is honest and earnest, but Tony still isn't in the mood to trust him.

"Transients," Terrence repeats like it explains everything.

Tony stares at him blankly.

Nodding, Terrence seems to concede there is more explaining to do. "Transients are people that may or may not come into existence depending on the free will of the Permanents." When Tony continues staring, he continues: "Those are people destined to make an impact of importance on the world. They have certain goals they will achieve, regardless of how the world has formed. Have you ever known in your heart that you had to follow one choice while other times you were rife with indecision?"

Holding his breath, Tony licks his lips. "Like when I left Philly, I thought about it all night. I still don't know if it was the right choice."

Terrence's eyebrows jump like Tony just proved his point. "What about when you joined NCIS?"

"I _knew_ I was supposed to be there. I couldn't say yes fast enough."

"Because you were fulfilling your preset destiny to protect certain people. People who will go one to change the world in ways you can't even imagine."

Tony makes a face. "How do you fit into all of this?"

"We, guardian angels, exist to help guide the choices of the Permanents, to help you to remember your true purpose in the world. When one of you gets off course—like you have been after the change in your relationship with Leroy Jethro Gibbs—you are often given a glimpse to set things right. To keep the world on track. We weren't certain you needed one until after you saved Timothy McGee." He purses his lips. "That case would have set you up to self-destruct."

"What do you mean 'self-destruct'?"

Terrence just shakes his head, smiles to convey that he already said to much.

While Tony's jetlagged brain struggles to process the new information, he rubs the back of his neck and stares out at the empty street. Terrence waits patiently, kindly for the first time they met. A part of Tony wants to wipe that friendly grin right off his fucking face.

Then Tony glances back to the horizon. The full moon against the cloudless sky full of twinkling stars might be beautiful under any other circumstance. Right now, he just wants to scoop them up, so he can use them all for one big wish. He doesn't even know what he would use it for.

To return to his family? Or to go back to his old, perfectly acceptable life without ever even knowing that they existed? Or just accept that he couldn't have them and wish for the strength to move on.

He releases a labored sigh.

Maybe amnesia would be more merciful.

"What about Tim? Didn't you say he was supposed to die today?" Tony's eyes land back on Terrence. "And obviously, he didn't. So..."

"Your choices prevented that. Thus – " Terrence claps his hands "— and the world changed. But the following set of events were meant to be catastrophic. For both of you. It would have knocked everything completely off course."

For Tony, the explanations aren't good enough. "What about – "

"I've already told you far more than I should have about the workings of the world. I'm sorry that I cannot tell you more," Terrence says like he actually means it. "All you should know is that you are one of the Permanents destined for great things. Like many of those around you."

Tony tilts his head. "Like who?"

"Zoe Keates. Timothy McGee. Delilah Fielding. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. They are all meant to impact the world in their own way, in every rendition of it."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Tony's face pinches in anger. "Are you hoping that I'll realize I'm super duper special and forget about my family?"

"Not at all." Terrence's frown deepens. "I merely thought I owed you an explanation as to why your family doesn't exist in a parallel plane. As there can be only one version of the world."

"So that's it? I'm supposed to just get up, smile, and go back to work like everything's okay." Climbing to his feet, Tony narrows his eyes at Terrence. "Life just goes on like nothing happened."

When Terrence doesn't reply, Tony screws his lips up in repulsion.

"Some guardian angel you are!" he yells, his voice full of vitriol and hate. "You rip my life apart and act like I'm supposed to kiss your ass afterwards."

Rolling his eyes, he turns away in the direction of downtown Washington. He only makes it a few steps before Terrence calls after him. Tony glances back, expression as hard as the steel on the bridge.

Terrence has his left hand in his jacket pocket. "From a rational standpoint, I believe I should allow you to return to your work and continue with your life. But somehow, you are also right. You were meant to come out of your glimpse as a changed person. A better agent and an even better man. Not a – "

"A total basketcase?" Tony supplies humorlessly.

"Yes," Terrence says, half-nodding. "You are the first person to react so…intensely to the end of a glimpse. And if you return only to miss that family, I have failed you."

Suddenly interested in the angel, Tony doubles back towards him. When Terrence removes his hand from his pocket, he holds a baby blue noisemaker covered in silver sparkles. It glows with the same strange light that the angel does. Terrence draws closer, offering it to Tony as though he were holding out a piece of heaven. His brow furrows as his gaze jumps from the toy to Terrence and back again.

"I don't understand," Tony whispers.

"It is a chance to have the life you enjoyed in the glimpse," Terrence says guardedly. "However, if you choose to go back, you cannot return to the life you know. And you should not intervene to in any matter that could change the course of that world."

Tony hesitantly takes the noisemaker, careful not to set it off. Even though he wants nothing more than to go back to his family, the weight of rewriting the world is suddenly too much to bear. Those who died and those who lived. He doesn't know where to start.

_I don't know what to do…_

"Before you make any decision, Tony," Terrence says, "you should know you have a child that you don't know about yet."

Tony's eyes widen. "I do?"

"Your…" Terrence considers the word carefully "…time with Ziva David created a daughter."

Tony gasps. "What's her name?"

"Talia." The way Terrence says the name, it sounds like music.

Tony gapes at the mere thought. And out of nowhere, questions pour out of him as quickly as the water rages underneath them. "How old is she? What is she like? Where is – "

Suddenly, Terrence's face turns impassive and he whispers: "I have been recalled."

In a flash, the angel vanishes before Tony's very eyes. If he didn't know better, he would swear that he heard a little bell echo somewhere in the sky above. Maybe, Tony would like to think, Terrence earned his wings after all.

But in the end, Tony is left alone on the dark bridge with his noisemaker and his choices.


	39. Chapter 39

With night curling around him like a drowsy cat, Tony finds his way to the home of the only person who could ever understand his plight. He stands at the edge of the sidewalk, staring at the dark Craftsman ahead of him. The hint of a smile pulls at his lips when he realizes that he'll never be able to escape the gravitational pull of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Not even in a life that was meant solely for him.

Now that he's here, watching the darkened windows and wondering what its occupant is doing inside. He doesn't even know what he's searching for anymore.

Validation.

Advice.

His smile grows contrite.

Permission.

His right hand fumbles with the noisemaker in his pocket. He should just whirl it and be done. G-d knows he wants nothing more than to go home and curl up on that big leather couch with his wife and his kids. Even though they aren't really his, it didn't really matter in the end. He still learned to love them.

_But knowing I have a daughter here, I can't just walk away._

_Can I?_

With a broken sigh, Tony heads across the lawn. He takes the porch steps two at a time. Underneath his feet, the ragged floorboards share his regrets with their low and grating moans. He slips into the pitch-dark house, takes a few moments for his senses to catch up with his body.

He doesn't bother to call out. He'd like to think Gibbs just somehow _knows_ that he's here.

The air is stifling and stale like windows are never opened, like the home hasn't breathed in years. Moonlight creeps through the windows, casting its eerily glow across the old furniture and the well-worn carpet. Tony often forgets how militaristic Gibbs' space is. With every object in its own place and only allowed to linger if it could prove its worth. The loving touches that might've once made it a home are long gone, leaving nothing but a place to crash before having to get up and slog through the day.

As though he doesn't want to leave any trace of himself behind, Tony carefully picks his way towards the basement. The kitchen counters are bare, dirty dishes stacked in the sink. A coffee pot humming happily away to itself in the corner as it brews a midnight pot.

_At least something is happy in this depressing place._

When Tony sniffs the java that's thick as rocket fuel, he smiles nostalgically. Every time Gibbs used to bring it into the bullpen, Tony would get a caffeine contact high that left him ready for anything. He savors that memory as he heads down the basement stairs.

_Better days. At least, that's what I used to think._

Downstairs, the lights burn at half-mast. The newscasters on the television give a rundown of the day's highlights and lowlights in matching tones. A half-built boat hull takes up most of the available space.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs sits on a stool, hammering a piece of wood into the side. His bad knee is awkwardly propped next to him, his crutches leaned against the side of the boat.

Tony pauses at the bottom of the stairs.

Without looking back, Gibbs says: "Was starting to wonder if you were coming down, DiNozzo."

Tony bristles a little. "Hey, Boss."

"I'm not your boss."

He half-nods, looks away. "Right."

They stand in heady silence for what feels like forever. Tony wrings his hands, glances at the walls, the boat hull, at the workbench. Anything to avoid looking at his boss. It's enough to make Tony's skin crawl, his heart kick-start, his back break out into a cold sweat that he hasn't felt since he started at NCIS.

Gibbs seems oddly at peace.

Eventually, he turns back. "Want a drink, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, I could use one."

When Gibbs tries to stand up, he pitches dangerously after his crutches. Tony rushes forward, tells Gibbs to sit back down, and heads to the workbench with the bourbon. As he fills up a couple of jars, he notices the drawings on yellowed paper done by a child's unsteady hand hanging one the wall. His fingers trace the figures in one—the picture of a little girl with a dark-haired man and a red-haired woman. He doesn't think Gibbs is physically capable of the smile in the drawing.

_The great Leroy Jethro Gibbs in another life._

In his reflection in the bourbon bottle, Tony catches a flash of the same expression he always saw in Gibbs' eyes. Like the man stuck going through the motions. Like a man who lost the will to live. Like a man who lost the only thing that could make him whole.

Tony downs his drink, grimacing when it hits his blood stream. He quickly refills the jar.

When he turns around, Gibbs is standing on his good leg, propped up uncomfortably by his crutches. Despite the alcohol and pain killers in his system, his eyes are surprisingly alert and focused.

"What's gotten into you, DiNozzo?" he asks.

Tony rubs the back of his neck. "Nothing, Boss."

"Still not your boss, DiNozzo." Gibbs half-smiles, even though Tony doesn't. "If it was nothing, you wouldn't be here. We both know that we haven't been on the best terms since Iraq."

Tony sighs. "I guess I can't understand why you pushed me away."

"You were planning on that crazy-assed vigilante mission to hunt down a little kid." Gibbs sets his jaw. " _A kid_ , DiNozzo. Think about it."

"I was protecting you." Tony shrugs. "You would have done the same for me."

Licking his lips, Gibbs looks away. Even though he doesn't breathe a word, Tony knows—he _fucking_ knows—the answer. If that kid had riddled him full of bullets, Gibbs wouldn't have rested until the kid was six feet under. He wouldn't have rested until the whole damn operation was ripped apart from the inside out and even then, he would never be the same.

Tony takes a step back. "I think I made a mistake by – "

"I never wanted to become me, Tony," Gibbs says, so quiet that Tony barely hears it. "You're a good agent. A good man. You deserve a better end than that."

"So do you, Gibbs."

With a broken smile, Gibbs just shakes his head. Then he studies Tony with those eyes that see through every- _freaking_ -thing. His mouth gapes as he hobbles slowly forward.

"You had one of them." He struggles to keep his tone even, but there is a fire in his eyes.

Tony's brow furrows. "One of what?"

"A glimpse."

Tony goes rigid. His heart races. His mind churns away at a million miles an hour. Unable to focus on anything, Tony slumps against the workbench and stares at the floor. Even though Tony always thought Gibbs to be omnipresent and omnipotent and omni-everything, how the _hell c_ ould he know about _that?_

"I've had a couple," Gibbs admits quietly.

Tony breathes. "Boss?"

"Okay, more than a couple." Smirking, Gibbs nods. "Tend to get off-course a lot. According to Chaz."

"Chaz?" Tony asks, looking up.

"That damned guardian angel. Real bastard." He leans deeper against the crutch. "Always trying to get me to learn some G-damned lesson or something."

Unable to believe what he's hearing, Tony downs the rest of bourbon to ease his nerves. "Mine's name is Terrence. He's kind of an asshole too. Do you think they learn it in guardian angel school?"

Gibbs shrugs with one shoulder. "Probably."

They stare at each other for a long time, both searching for the other's secrets. By the time they're done, Tony has nothing while Gibbs knows everything about his senior agent.

"What was your glimpse like?" Gibbs asks quietly.

Tony looks back to the drawings. "I was married to Zoe with two daughters. Riley was eight and Phoebe was just a baby." His eyes skirt back to Gibbs. "I really liked it. I think I was happy." He sets his jaw, speaks a little louder: "I _was_ happy"

Gibbs nods. "Those are the hardest."

"Just how many have you had, Boss?"

"Four, so far. Last time I saw Chaz, he said he'd be back soon." Gibbs rolls his eyes.

Tony laughs in spite of himself.

"Look, Tony," he says, drawing closer. "It gets easier once you get back. You'll feel like shit for a few weeks, but the memories fade. They never go away completely, but it gets easier."

"I have the chance to go back, Boss."

When Tony pulls out the noisemaker, Gibbs' eyes go wide. He shuffles over until he is close enough to steal the noisemaker if he wanted. But he stares at it with a reverence that Tony has never seen in his boss' eyes before. It's as though he would welcome the escape, if given the chance.

"Why are you still here?" Gibbs blurts out.

"My angel told me that I have a daughter here." Tony looks away. "With Ziva."

"I kinda figured as much." Gibbs lets the silence stretch just long enough to make Tony squirm. "And you're afraid that if you don't meet her that you'll always wondered what could have been?"

Tony gives a hitched nod.

Clearing his throat, Gibbs glances back to his daughter's artwork. When Tony takes a second look, he notices just _how many_ pictures there are. They plaster the space behind the work bench like wallpaper. Toys fit for a girl—tiny plastic horses and fake, plastic food and yes, an actual Barbie in a wedding dress—are hidden in the wreckage of Gibbs' woodworking tools.

"You can't miss someone that you've never met," Gibbs says cautiously.

Tony hazards a glance at his boss. "Do you miss them?"

"Every damned day." Gibbs reaches to pluck the picture of his family off the wall. "No matter how hard I tried, I never could fill their hole. We were together again once. In a glimpse. I never wanted to leave."

"That's the way I felt."

"If you're looking for my blessing, Tony, you have it." Gibbs stares at the lingering remains of his past life. "You've always had it. I want you to be happy."

The noisemaker in Tony's hands suddenly feels like a dead weight, threatening to drag him down to the depths of a bottomless pit. To choose between the only family he knows and the one he could hav. He squeezes the noisemaker, trying to fight the emotions rising in his chest.

And like being struck by lightening, he knows what he needs to do.

Gibbs clasps a hand around Tony's shoulder. Even though it's the closest thing he'll ever get to a hug, Tony leans his head against his boss' shoulder. The tender moment is the last thing he'll have here and he wants to hold on to it forever. He always wanted a father and here, he had something close to it. Even if neither of them realized it until it was far too late.

Gibbs speaks up first. "Did you and I work together in your glimpse?"

"Yeah, Boss, we did," Tony says.

"What about my girls?"

Tony doesn't have heart to tell him the truth. "They were there. You were happy."

The way Gibbs turns back to his basement send tendrils of regret sneaking through Tony's soul. When Tony holds up the noisemaker, Gibbs grins.

"See you on the other side, Tony."

Tony swallows the lump in his throat. "You bet, Boss."

As the sound of the noisemaker cuts through the basement, Tony understands his lie doesn't even matter.

His last memory of Gibbs deserves to be a happy one.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

For some strange reason, Tony expect there to be more fanfare when the entire world as is razed and rebuilt from the ground up. He thought there would be that wispy white smoke or those strange chiming noises from the movies. Or hell, even a visit to that great white room with Terrence again.

But everything he has ever known is gone in the blink of an eye.

One moment, he stands in the middle of Gibbs' basement with his former boss' hand on his shoulder. The next, he is alone in a dingy, dark apartment.

Reeling as though he were just thrown from a moving car, he leaps off the couch to his feet. He nearly trips over a coffee table that's nothing more than a piece of plywood propped up on two milk crates. Faded prints of paintings by great masters in tarnished gold frames hang on the walls. Moving boxes are packed three deep by the door next to an old cathode ray tube television.

It looks _so_ much like that apartment where he lived during his tenure in Philly. He wasn't there long enough to buy real furniture, to grow roots, to build a life, to make it a home. It was a place to land for a few months—twelve? eighteen? did it matter anymore?—before he sprouted wings again and flew to the wherever would keep him happy for a few more.

_That's because it is my apartment from Philly._

He scrubs his hand across his forehead.

_Christ, what am I doing here?_

Unsettled, he collapses back into the threadbare sofa and nearly sinks straight to the floor. At that moment, he notices the pieces of paper on the coffee table next to the half-full bottle of vodka. Judging by the amount of booze missing, he should be passed out drunk and sleeping it off, but he is more sober than the teetotaler he has become.

When a car drives past outside, the headlights cut through the blinds to shine on the pages. He squints through the near dark and gasps at the date.

"It's the night before I'm supposed to leave for Baltimore," he whispers.

Clambering to his feet, he _knows_ exactly what he is supposed to do, _knows_ exactly what he is supposed to do. He riffles through his pockets, almost surprised he comes up empty before he realizes it's well before cell phones were even invented. After ripping the apartment apart, he finds an old rotary phone on the floor in the bedroom. He dials the number that he never could forget, the one that he occasionally dialed into his cell phone when his brain used to play the cruel _what if?_ game.

Her tired voice answers on the first ring. _"Hello?"_

Tony's heart twists in his throat, spiriting his voice away.

_"Look, jerk. If you don't stop calling, I'm going to – "_

"Zoe," he manages. "Keates."

_"Spider? Do we have a new case?"_ She sounds so lazy, so tired like they just got off a 24 hour shift. And for all he knows, they might have.

"I-I-I-I..." Suddenly, he's trembling.

_"Spider, are you okay?"_ She gives a short pause. _"You're scaring me."_

"I'm not okay," he admits, voice barely a whisper. "I'm getting ready to leave."

_"I know. We have to be at the station soon, but – "_

"No, I can't stay here anymore. I got a job in Baltimore." He glances back to the moving boxes, presses his lips together as he lets go of the life he'll never have, the only one he ever knew. "I don't know what I'm thinking. I don't know what I'm doing. I just – "

_"I'm on my way. Don't move. And don't do anything stupid."_

As he leans against the wall, his eyes land on a water stain by the ceiling. That familiar feeling bubbles up inside him. The same one that always made him cut and run. It's like an iron fist around his chest, ready to squeeze the very life right out of him. He needs to _get the fuck out of here. Now._

_"Spider, promise me you won't leave until I get there."_

He pulls a shaky breath. "I won't."

_"Promise me."_

Nodding, he closes his eyes. "I promise."

The line goes dead, but he doesn't move from his spot on the floor. He doesn't know how long he stays rooted to the floor, doesn't know how long he waits for Zoe.

But when a knock comes to the door, he is on his feet instantly. He rushes through the apartment, almost trips over a lump in the carpet on his way. When he jerks the door open, he stops short.

Instead of Zoe, Terrence stands in the hallway.

Wearing a wrinkled, brown suit and sweat stained shirt, he stares questioningly at Tony for a long moment. His eyes are red-rimmed and world-weary with dark bags stretching underneath them. His hair is mussed and his soul patch is gone, replaced by a haggard 5 o'clock shadow.

Tony recovers first. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to make sure you don't interfere," he says, a hint of _something_ in his voice. "To make sure you don't change something you aren't meant to."

Rolling his eyes, Tony starts to close the door. "Don't worry, Terrence. I'll be sure to stay out of everything that I shouldn't. Now, if you – "

"I was sent away for interfering in your life. For giving you what you needed. For fulfilling my duty as your guardian angel." Terrence hiccups, appearing to be about to burst into tears.

"Sent away?" Tony repeats.

"Condemned to live as a man. Die as one. Be judged as one." When the fat tears start falling, Terrence touches his cheeks. He holds out his wet fingers. "I don't understand what these are and what rages in me. It is so strange. These feelings…these emotions…" he looks up at Tony. "I did this to you?"

Tony nods.

"I'm sorry," he says as the tears come stronger. "There is something else. It feels as though there is ache deep within me. I do not understand how I am supposed to feel so much."

Nodding, Tony is about to tell Terrence that's how he felt when his family was ripped away from him.

Suddenly, Terrence's stomach growls.

"You're just hungry," Tony says, laughing at the insanity of it all.

Terrence's brow furrows.

"In the kitchen. Get something out of the fridge."

When he steps out of the way, Terrence wanders into the apartment. His eyes dart cautiously around the apartment as though he wasn't quite sure what to expect. After digging through the refrigerator, he holds up an apple. He turns it over it like it's an alien lifeform.

"Just eat it," Tony says.

Half-nodding, Terrence checks the back for instructions.

Tony rolls his eyes, ready to go show the fallen angel how to _eat._ Just as he starts to close the door, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Spider."

The sound of her voice nearly drops him to his knees.

_Zoe._

He whirls around to find her in the hallway. She's still in her pajamas with a winter jacket and boots thrown over it. She pulls off her red knit hat as she steps into the apartment to survey his moving boxes. Her jaw is set, surprise etched on her face when she glances towards Terrence. He is sucking on the side of the apple, obviously having no idea how to use his teeth.

"Who's that?" she asks.

Tony finds his voice. "Subletter. He isn't from around here."

"I can tell." When she looks at him, her face falls. "You're serious about this? Leaving?"

His heart skips a beat and for the first time, he just _acts._ He dives into her, their lips meeting with an untold ferocity. Taken aback, she goes rigid for a split-second before she gives herself over to him. Her body feels safe and warm and comforting, pressed up against his.

She pulls back, her cheeks red and her eyes solemn. "Spider, this is crazy. We're partners."

"I know."

"We can't– "

"I love you," he blurts out. "Always have. Always will." He presses his forehead against hers, soaking her up. "I never should have left you behind. I should have stayed."

She half-laughs uncertainly. "You are here."

"Of course, I am." He laughs too.

She looks away. "This is crazy."

"No, it's not." He cups her cheek, encouraging her to meet his pleading eyes again. "We can have a great life here. Get married, buy a house in the suburbs, have some kids. You could be a stay at home mom."

"Whoa, Tony. Slow down. This isn't like you at all. You don't even _like_ kids." Stepping back, she runs her hands through her hair. "Plus, I don't think I want any."

He wants to tell her everything about their future. That yes, it's crazy and yes, it seems impulsive right now. But he has seen what they could have and it's so G-damned wonderful. Their life will turn out to be everything they could hope and so much more.

"That's okay," he says, knowing the girls will come when it's their time. "I just want to be with you. No matter what."

When he doesn't share her incredulous laugh, her expression turns surprisingly sober. "You're actually serious about –" she gestures between them " –this?"

"More than anything, Zoe," he says solemnly as he takes her hand. "Will you take a chance on me?"

Her grin is infectious. "Let's see where life takes us."

He doesn't tell her that he's already seen it, that he's already savored it, that he's already _lived_ it.

And it is _so_ beautiful.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Years later, long after Tony settled into life as a family man. Long after he and Zoe moved to Washington, bought their little Craftsman, and welcomed the tour de force that they named Riley Jean. Long after he joined Metro PD and met his new partner, the trash-talking Andrea Sparr.

Zoe says to him as they're getting ready for bed: "It looks like someone bought the house next door. We're getting new neighbors tomorrow."

He doesn't sleep that night, can't focus on breakfast, doesn't even bother trying to do his chores. And when the moving truck pulls up, he peers through the front door for just a glimpse of the man he hasn't yet met here, but still remembers all too well. From a distance, Tim McGee is a paler and softer with a pretty wife and a little boy.

When Tony darts outside, Zoe calls after him: "Since when did you turn into such a lookey-loo?"

He stands at the hedge, trimming the same spot over and over until he cuts the leaves nearly down to the stump. He watches the heavyset movers transport boxes with Tim trying his best to keep up the pace. The little boy clutches a stuffed rocket under one arm and toddles after his father like a duckling.

After a few trips, Tim _finally_ notices Tony, who's about to explode from the sheer excitement at meeting his old friend. Tim sets the box on his hip, shields his eyes against the sun.

"Howdy neighbor!" he calls.

Tony feigns surprise. "Oh, hey! I didn't see you there!"

Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, Tim heads over to join Tony. The little boy wanders close to his father and once they stop, he clings to Tim's left leg. His wide, worried eyes stare up at Tony with concern. As he ruffles his son's hair, Tim apprises the overgrown hedge with disdain.

"It looks like you've got your work cut out for you," Tim says.

Tony ditches the clippers onto the ground. "Yeah, it always gets ahead of me. I think there's something in the water around here. Damned thing's got a mind of its own."

Tim genuinely laughs and extends his hand. "I'm Tim McGee."

After wiping his hand on the back of his jeans, Tony shakes it. "Tony DiNozzo." Then he smiles at the little boy, who hugs Tim's leg tighter. "What's your name, little guy?"

Before Tim has a chance to reply, Riley comes tearing out of the house like the Tasmanian Devil.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she screams

She is blur of dark hair, stubby legs, and purple dress as she flies towards him. Feeling the flush creep up his cheeks, Tony shoots Tim a glance to say _you know, kids._ Tim nods with that same agony all parents share when their kids are too hopped up on sugar and adrenaline and playtime to be rational. Oh fuck it, when are children ever rational?

"Daddy!" she howls. "You'll never guess what happened! You'll never guess!"

Tony turns back. "What's that, Riley?"

But she doesn't say anything, just stops dead in her tracks. She gives Tim a wary look, then squints to see through the bushes at the boy.

"Riley, this is Mr. McGee," Tony says. "He lives next door now."

She nods decisively. "Good. Mr. O'Keefe smelled like fish sticks."

Tim stifles a laugh.

Once she sets her sight on the little boy, she rushes towards the hedge. Before Tony has a chance to stop her, she drops on her stomach and slithers right under it.

"Riley Jean," Tony warns.

But she is too busy inspecting the little boy to notice. He hides behind Tim's leg, doing his best to keep his father between them. Still clearly interested, he peers at her with those wide, expectant eyes.

She sizes him up for a long beat before she says: "What's your name?"

"Matty," he says, standing up a little straighter before he slinks behind Tim.

"I'm Riley. You're going to be my best friend." She grins broadly when she gets right in Matty's face. "Want to see my toys?"

Tim braces himself as though he isn't sure what Matty might do, but the little boy abandons his father. Then he glances up and Tim gives an encouraging nod. Both of them slip under the hedge, then head over the lawn back to Tony's house. Riley holds Matty's hands, dragging him into the house. While Matty holds onto his rocket for dear life, Riley just rambles on about the latest and greatest place Tony just took her: the park.

Tony watches them go. "Well, it looks like they just hit it off."

Laughing, Tim nods. "I guess we better get used to seeing each other."


	40. Epilogue

Despite Terrence's watchful eyes and careful warnings, Tony manages to interfere twice.

The first is shortly after he goes back. Late one night, he makes a phone call to a crusty, NCIS agent whose voice drips with whiskey and cigarettes. He tells the agent—named Mike Franks—about a suspect who divulged a plot to kill a young witness and her only daughter. Thanks to Franks' quick thinking, fate spared Shannon and Kelly Gibbs from an untimely and gruesome death. The near miss brings Leroy Jethro Gibbs back from Gulf early and leads him to take a job with the same agency responsible for saving his family. Years later, his and Tony's paths cross and Gibbs is still as volatile and as much a powder keg as he ever was. It seems, without Tony, being a bastard is just Gibbs' nature.

The second invention comes five years after Tim McGee moves in. Even though Tim prefers not to discuss his extracurricular activities, he is actually a well-known author based on his tenure as an NCIS field agent. When he is invited to be the guest of honor at a writer's conference in Pittsburgh, he almost turns it down until Delilah convinces him that they should make a weekend trip of it. Right before they are set to leave, Tony ropes Tim into running evidence for a slam-dunk case. Two all-nighters and a missed conference later, Tim figures out that Tony really didn't need the assistance. They don't speak for almost a month, but Tony considers it far better than the alternative.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

As the years fly by, Riley and Matty grow up together, almost permanently attached at the hip, the very best of friends. They spend summer nights watching the stars in Matty's backyard and winter evenings with movie nights on Riley's couch. Sometimes, they let Phoebe to hang out in the big tree house that Tim and Tony built in the DiNozzo's backyard. But usually, it's just the Riley and Matty Club in those branches. They even make a big sign that reads: _No Phoebes allowed._

When they hit high school, things quickly change between them. Matty grows into Matt the brainiac with a heart of gold to whom academics comes as easily as breathing while Riley blossoms into a star athlete who manages to pass her classes. Mostly with _Matt's_ help.

Their bodies and hormones go haywire, trying to give way to something more. They fall in and out of love with each other constantly, but their feelings never line up at the same time.

As a member of the field hockey and basketball and softball teams, Riley tends to only date the good-looking boys on the football team. Matt heads the Mathletes, Chess Club, French Club and the Fencing Club. No matter how hard he tries, he can't score a date with _anyone_ because he is always too _something_. Too nice. Too awkward. Too nerdy. Too smart. Too close to Riley.

Even though they aren't particularly close at school—Riley likes to give Matt his space and he doesn't want to give his friends the wrong idea by lingering around Riley and the football team—they still spend most of their weekends together. At least, when Riley doesn't have a boyfriend that week.

Their entire world changes once high school comes to a close. During their graduation, Matt is still riding the high from reading his Valedictorian speech in front of a packed auditorium. Ever the social butterfly, Riley spends the day bouncing from clique to clique while leading the star quaterback around by the nose. Matt hung back with his friends, discussing the latest video games while working up the nerve to talk to Riley. When he _finally_ does, he pulls Riley away from her friends.

When she stands in front of him, he suddenly realizes that she is _everything_ he has ever wanted in a girl. Smart as a whip, beautiful in that supermodel who doesn't know it kind of way. It makes him a little crazy, a little drunk and he _almost_ loses his nerve. She combs her fingers through the ends of her long, dark hair, the yellow tassel of her graduation cap bobbing. When she looks at him with those wide, hazel eyes, he worries he might just drown.

"I have something to tell you, Ri," he whispers. "If I don't say it now, I never will."

Riley's gaze turns curious. "Are you okay, Matt?"

"I love you."

Once it's out in the open, he turns away with his cheeks blazing. He can't even _look_ at her. Her mouth turns into a little 'o' before she presses her lips together.

Eventually, she nods. "I know."

Matt's heart plummets. "Oh."

"It's not that I don't…" She offers a sympathetic smile. "It's not that I _don't_ love you. Because _I do._ Just not in _that_ way. I love that you're Matt. My best friend, my partner in crime." When he swallows hard—because he was _so damned sure_ she felt it too—she hugs him. "I'll always love you, Matty Matt."

He holds his breath. "Yeah, me too."

After that, things between them are never quite the same. The time they spend together over the summer is less frequent, more awkward with less conversation and more fiddling with their respective cell phones. In the fall, Matt heads to MIT without saying goodbye. Riley follows in her father's footsteps to the police academy and works on her degree in Criminal Justice at the local community college. They barely see each other for a few years, only catching up with the occasional e-mail or phone call.

Somewhere in there, Riley realizes what she threw away. She doesn't know to fix it.

Over Christmas Break during their sophomore year, Matt brings home a pretty blonde math major from Biloxi. She has a Southern drawl that could melt even the hardest heart…except for Riley's. After meeting Matt's girlfriend, Riley spends her days moping around the house.

Eventually, she turns to the only man she trusts for advice. Tony sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, plate of pancakes, and a casefile.

"Dad, what do I do?" she whines.

Tony glances up from his reports. "Are you asking me as your father or your future boss?"

Letting out a little laugh, she dramatically rolls her eyes. "Are you going to remind me that you're police chief every chance you get?"

"Until you start calling me Boss, Rookie." He winks.

"I can't call you Boss because I need Dad advice, _Dad."_

Setting his file aside, he gives her his full attention. After taking the seat across from him, she stretches to pluck a piece of bacon off his plate. She picks at it morosely without speaking.

"What's on your mind, Rookie?" Tony asks.

"Matt has a girlfriend now. And…" Her voice trails off as her gaze drops the floor.

"You realized that you want to be with him," Tony replies, giving her that _I told you so_ dad smile. "It's never too late to tell him how you feel."

"But – "

"Tell him before you lose him forever. Believe me, I've been there."

Riley's brow furrows. "What are you talking about, Dad? I thought you and Mom got married while she was still on the force. You've never been apart. Unless there was…"

"There never was anyone else, Rookie. Just your mother." Tony shakes his head at the fleeting memory of his old life, his original life. " _Always_ your mother."

Later that same day, Riley asks Matt to come over. Alone. She lays her heart on the line. She tells him that she has always loved him, but was too stupid to realize it. She tells him that it's for real this time, that it's forever this time. Before she can even finish her speech, he kisses her with a reckless abandon that she has never known. And then, she knows what he did all along: they'll be together forever.

The math major leaves on the next flight out of Dulles.

Matt finishes his semester at MIT before transferring to Georgetown. Riley graduates from the Academy at the top of her class and somewhere near the bottom for her bachelors. They get a little apartment in Foggy Bottom. Riley starts at Metro as a rookie while Matt starts his Master's Degree at Georgetown.

Their relieved families often like to ask what took them so long.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

**Saturday, September 24, 2033 – 3:30pm – The Potomac Yacht Club – Washington, DC –**

It was originally planned to a small wedding, just a group of close family and few friends. However, once news broke that Police Chief Tony DiNozzo's _daughter_ was getting married, the wedding took on a life of its own. Like Frankenstein's monster, the day grew its own planner, a guest list of a few hundred people—to avoid playing favorites in the sea of Washington politics that Tony swam in—and a cake large enough to feed the entire US Navy. Even though the price tag ballooned, the DiNozzos and the McGees decided not to spare any expense on the celebration of a lifetime.

After a picture perfect ceremony in Washington's most popular church, Tony slips away from the pomp and circumstance and the photographer—Phoebe. He ends up at the bar during cocktail hour. Behind him, soft jazz music pumps through the speakers while the guests snack on appetizers and talking about just how _wonderful—_ the weather, the crab puffs, Riley's dress, that darling McGee boy—everything is.

Since no one is expecting him here, Tony enjoys his moment of anonymity, his moment of peace before he is bombarded with questions about his daughter, the wedding, his job.

He calls for a Scotch. Once the bartender realizes just _who_ he is, he nearly trips over his own two feet to bring the high-shelf alcohol they have on hand. Laughing, Tony takes his drink and slips the kid a twenty.

Before he takes a sip, he catches his reflection in the amber liquid. It's the first time he notices just how _old_ he looks. The lines etched into his face are a testament to the career, the family, the _life,_ he built. The grey hair on his temples give him a distinguished air, but make him appear older than his real age.

_Growing old like this is a beautiful thing._

When he nurses his drink, someone clasps a strong hand on Tony's shoulder. He goes rigid before he forces a bright smile, readying himself for yet another strained conversation with a high-ranking official he doesn't even like.

Instead of a career politician, Tim stands by Tony's side. The years have been far kinder to him. Tony thinks it's probably because Tim doesn't spend his days playing kiss-ass with Washington, worrying about the budget or giving press conference. Other than the laugh and smile lines, few wrinkles grace his aging face. However, the middle aged spread that spared Tony took over Tim's midsection years ago.

"I didn't think I'd find you here," Tim says, smiling.

Tony sips his Scotch. "Yeah, I can't remember the last time I had a drink."

"Well, now is the time we both need one." Laughing, Tim orders a glass of Chardonnay. "Can you believe our kids are getting _married_?"

"They already, Tim." When his neighbor tilts his head, Tony holds his hand out to the reception to prove it point. "What do you think they did at the church?"

Laughing again, Tim makes a _duh_ face to himself. "Good point."

"Yeah." Tony glances through the glass to the view outside where Zoe and Delilah walk past, deep in conversation. "Do you think they'll notice we're gone?"

"Not a chance in hell." Tim shakes his head resolutely. "Delilah and Zoe are too busy trying to find the best picture location for Riley and Matt. Phoebe keeps nixing all of their choices because the light isn't quite right. I have no idea what that means, but they're going to be a while."

Tony grins to himself. Even though she is just a senior in high school, Phoebe has already carved out her niche as a gifted photographer. She possesses a natural gift to capture the rawest photos between two people. Tony's home overflows with her work, the walls covered with instants she captured as soon as her hands found their way around a camera. When Riley and Matt decided to get married, she was the obvious choice to record their day. But that control freak streak she inherited from her mother, Phoebe spends a lot of time trying to find just the right location before telling her subjects to _just act natural!_

Tony knocks back his Scotch while Tim sips his wine. For a split second, it feels just like it did back when he was an NCIS agent and they went to the bar to celebrate a case. He bristles.

"So how is Matt's research going?" Tony already knows the answer, but he just needs to fill the silence.

Tim half-smiles. "From what he says, not bad. He is on track to finish his PhD early. Although, I think he's already planning on trying to stay with the university as a professor. Apparently, they're in dire need of astrophysicists with a subspecialty the visible emissions from quasars."

Tony has no idea what the hell Tim is talking about. "And you said he'd have a hard time getting a job."

"I guess I was wrong." Grinning, Tim shrugs. "How is Riley doing on the force?"

"Are you asking me as her father or her boss?"

Tim chuckles. "A little of both."

"As a dad, I'm _so_ proud of her. She's one of the best young unis that I've ever seen and she takes her job so seriously." He swigs his drink, considering. "Hell, I'd say the same thing as her boss. She's on track to be the youngest detective in Metro's history. Hard to believe, huh?"

Tim's eyebrows rise. "What are you talking about? She wrote me a ticket for a burnt out tail light at seven. Then she tried to place me under citizen's arrest at nine."

Tony laughs. "What was that for again?"

"Littering because I didn't put the hedge clipping into a trashbag."

Tony laughs even harder. "I totally forgot about that."

"Yeah. So it's no surprise that she became a cop. You trained her well."

Tony rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks."

"I've always been surprised Phoebe didn't follow in your footsteps too."

"She never was interested in playing cops and robbers. Once she found our camera, she started wanting to document _everything_. So we helped her do what she loved, just like Riley."

Tim smiles. "Does she know where she's applying to college yet?"

"Not yet. But we've already spoken with New York Film Academy and the School of Visual Arts several times since she won that award last year. They're both really interested in her." Tony beams his brightest smile. "She isn't sure if she wants to be a press photographer or a director yet."

Tim lets out a low whistle. "She never told me any of that."

"You know how she is. Modest, just like her dad."

"Oh yeah, _sure_." Tim thumps Tony's back while they both laugh.

As they fall into a companionable silence, they turn to watch the wedding guests milling around on the dance floor. Tony barely recognizes half of them. Most are people from his dealings as police chief, socialites here to treat the biggest day of his daughter's life as just another party.

But in the middle of the dance floor, Terrence is in the midst of break dancing to the slow jazz music. Andrea Sparr cheers him on, laughing and whooping at the spectacle. When he holds out his hand, she jumps right into the fold with him. Several guests stop to watch them with abject horror.

"Can you believe those two?" Tim says, laughing and gesturing at them.

"Did you expect anything different?"

Tim considers for a long moment, then concedes: "From your old roommate and your partner, definitely not. They always were a little _different."_

And Tony decides not to tell Tim the whole story. After he came to Philly, Terrence was Tony's roommate for a few years while he learned how to become human and Tony dated Zoe. When they moved to Washington, Terrence followed and got his job as a security guard at NCIS. The two remained close friends—as close as Terrence could be without impacting Tony's life too much. From what Terrence said, he slowly fell in love with Sparr's rough and tumble exterior and her heart of gold. When she and Tony worked the Mulroney case, he finally worked up the nerve to ask for her number. "He's an angel," she later told Tony. And the rest is, as they say, history.

Suddenly, the music cuts out and overhead lights flash a few times.

Since they're about to announce the wedding party, Tony and Tim should probably be finding their way to their tables with their wives and everyone else. But, well, they _are_ the fathers of the bride and groom, so they stay by the bar for the best seat in the house. They silently watch as the wedding party—friends that Riley and Matt accumulated over the years—parade into the reception hall to a rock song that Riley loves. The bridesmaids are dressed in tea length red gowns while the men where traditional tuxedos.

Phoebe, the maid of honor, abandons her camera long enough to plaster a smile on her face and march in with Matt's college roommate on her arm. She looks every bit of her mother with Tony's smile for good measure. Short with dark, waist-length, stick-straight hair and piercing brown eyes. Her gaze finds Tony and she gives a bright grin, mouths _I love you,_ before she doubles back for her camera.

As soon as she's ready, the music quickly changes to an old Billie Holliday tune.

While Tim shifts his weight and stands up a bit straighter, Tony tries to will the tears away. He already cried at the church while they said their vows, while he realized that she isn't his little girl anymore.

He _so_ can't do it again.

But the moment Matt and Riley appear, Tony knows all bets are off.

In her organza, mermaid-cut gown, Riley is positively radiant. Clutching Matt's arm, she beams a megawatt smile that Tony hasn't seen since she graduated from the academy. Even though everyone always comments on how she looks _exactly_ like him, Tony thinks today she looks like Zoe on their wedding day. And he hopes her future is just as bright.

Matt is a spitting image of Tim from his probie days with those big, green eyes, chubby cheeks, and baby face. The only piece he seemed to inherit from Delilah is her dark brown hair. In his tuxedo, he resembles Tim from Tony's memories of NCIS. He looks like a kid playing dress-up in his father's closet.

Before they make a move, Matt and Riley sneak a glance as though they're the last people on the planet. They share a hopeful grin and Riley gives Matt's arm a squeeze, likely to help settle his nerves. She gives him a good tug and they make their way into the reception hall to an explosion of cheers.

Pride wells up in Tony's chest at his daughter's proudest moment. Tears prick to his eyes as they move into their first dance. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Tim holding out a handkerchief.

After taking, Tony wipes his face.

"I'm not crying," he says.

Tim nods. "Of course not."

Seconds later, someone wraps their arms around his waist. He would recognize Zoe's touch, the scent of her Chanel perfume. Leaning back into her, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. Even though it tastes like hair spray, he nuzzles her anyway.

Beside him, Delilah and Tim share a similar embrace.

"They look so happy," Zoe says excitedly. "It reminds me a lot of our wedding day. How glad we were and how much fun we had."

Tony hugs her closer. "And how excited we were to start our life."

Zoe looks up at him, her dark eyes burning. "I'd like to think we've had good one."

Tony's mind wanders languidly through the moments of his life past and the one he truly _lived._ He considers what he had here and what he could have had back home. And how he would never give up what he had for anything.

"So far, we've had a _great_ one," he says to her. Then add, only to himself: "It certainly has been a life less ordinary."


End file.
